To End Your Suffering
by MissAnnThropic
Summary: The forest was bombarded with a blinding light. When it faded, Dean stared down at the body before him. It was Sam, Dean knew, but only because Dean remembered what Sam had looked like at four years old.
1. Chapter 1

Title: To End Your Suffering

Author: MissAnnThropic

Spoilers: Set in Season 1

LiveJournal: miss_annthropic(dot)livejournal(dot)com

Summary: The forest was bombarded with a blinding light. When it faded, Dean stared down at the body before him. It was Sam, Dean knew, but only because Dean remembered what Sam had looked like at four years old.

Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(

Author's Note: I know, I know… Sam/Dean gets turned into a kid – done to death. I have no excuse beyond that the Muse wanted to do it, and I am slave to her whims.

* * *

Dean Winchester saw crazy crap on a daily basis. Between poltergeists, ghosts, demons, werewolves, vampires, and wendigos, to name but a few, there wasn't much that made him bat an eye. In his vast experience, as far as he was concerned, he'd seen it all.

And then something _really_ crazy would find the Winchester boys and Dean would think 'what the _hell_?!'

At that very moment, Dean was wondering just what the hell was going on.

It had seemed like an easy enough case of dark magic, if there was such a thing as 'easy' when it came to dark magic. The signs were pretty typical. A normal town turned funky town when some local yokels got their hands on all the right plants and one wrong book of spells. Sure, these locals had seemed unusually proficient and potent for newbies, but nothing Dean and Sam couldn't handle.

Dean and Sam had tracked the practitioners into the forest in the dead of night. The scene was all just a little too cliché. There was a bonfire burning in the blackness, a full moon beyond the bare tree branches, and three men gathered around the flames.

Man witches. The only thing Dean hated more than witches were man witches. Sam pressed that 'they're called warlocks' crap, but Dean thought the word sounded too cool for dudes doing the work of haggish broads.

Dean and Sam snuck up on the midnight meeting with guns drawn. Dean knew he'd have to be the one to waste these guys if it got ugly. Witches and 'warlocks' were still humans, and Sam had a real moral problem wasting people. Even bad people. Dean knew that going in, and he was ready. Dean didn't _like_ killing humans, per se, but he could do what had to be done. The needs of the many and all that good Spockian stuff.

When they got closer, Dean and Sam were both jolted by a new factor in the situation. A scream, high-pitched and panicked. It sounded like a woman or child. The brothers looked at each other. They hadn't counted on human sacrifice. Now they had to take the victim into consideration.

The man witches were struggling with their victim, dragging it closer to the fire, and Dean and Sam kicked it up to double time. The brothers couldn't see who the man witches had, the men themselves were blocking the view, but the cries were enough. Someone was in trouble.

Dean's entire grasp on the situation shifted when he and Sam, crouched near the treeline, got a look at the victim when one of man witches moved aside.

It wasn't a person at all. At first, Dean thought it was a horse. A pure white horse lying on its side bound with rope. That was weird enough, but when one of the man witches touched it, the horse screamed and thrashed its head… a head with a conspicuous single horn sprouting from its forehead.

"_What the_…?" Dean whispered to Sam.

Sam looked, bewildered, at his brother.

"Dude… is that a freaking _unicorn_?" Dean hissed.

Sam gaped and searched for words without success.

Dean was ready to call a retreat and regroup. People they saved, but what the hell were they supposed to do with a freaking unicorn?

But then something even weirder happened. The unicorn flailed, saw the Winchesters, and froze. Even Dean was chilled by it. A sky blue eye fixed on them, reflecting the ominous firelight, and there was something penetrating and captivating about that gaze.

Dean thought it was bordering on freaky, but something happened to Sam that took Dean's attention completely off the freaking unicorn. Dean still wasn't sure what happened, but his little brother went rigid. When Dean looked in his eyes, they were a thousand miles away.

Then it all went to hell in a hand basket. Before Dean could do anything about it, Sam leapt out with his weapon aimed. "Let her go!"

The man witches weren't going to be as accommodating as that, and Dean didn't have time to think. The man witches weren't so old school as to rely on their magic to be their weapons, and more guns entered the battle. Dean went on autopilot. At the start of the fray, with a single-mindedness that scared the hell out of Dean, Sam made his way to the unicorn, drew his knife, and cut her free. The unicorn leapt to her feet, white body orange and cobalt in the shadow and firelight.

Dean didn't see much of what was going on with Sam after that; two of the man witches went after Dean. He'd made enough of a ruckus to ensure it. That left one for Sam to handle, which was how Dean wanted it.

Dean shot one man witch at the outset. He had no compunction about it. They'd drawn guns on his little brother, and at that moment they proved their need to die. The second guy got the jump on him while Dean was shooting his buddy. It turned into a fist-fight. Dean heard gunshots, more than one, and it made him worry about Sam, but he had his own guy to deal with first.

Suddenly the man witch trading body shots with Dean went down. Dean hadn't touched him. Rearing in the place where the man had stood was the freaking unicorn, hooves lashing out, though the first hoof strike to the head had dropped the guy.

Dean flinched back. The single horn was coated in blood, staining white fur and forelock, as though it had been used as a spear. The freaking unicorn came down and when she did, Dean stood, mouth open incredulously. Sam was riding the damn thing. There was his younger brother, curled over the unicorn's neck, hands in her silvery mane.

"What the…" Dean asked of no on in particular, looking around to see three bodies on the forest floor.

The unicorn swung around to give Dean a broadside and Sam held out a hand. "Come on, Dean."

Dean blinked. "Excuse me? You don't actually think I'm going to get on that thing, do you?"

Dean couldn't see Sam's face in the shadow from the fire backlit behind him, but Sam's silence said it all.

"Come on, man. What are _you_ doing up on that? Get down before it kills you."

"She's not going to hurt us."

"How do you know that?"

"She told me, all right?"

"Told you? What, are you Doctor Doolittle now?"

Sam shook his extended hand insistently. "Just come on!"

Dean didn't see the need for urgency, but before he could argue further with Sam the freaking unicorn turned her head to Dean and the look… it had a reproach Dean couldn't explain. And an urging that mirrored Sam's. It left Dean clearly outnumbered.

With a curse under his breath, Dean took Sam's hand and swung up on to the unicorn's back behind his brother. The animal crab stepped and flicked her tail. Dean slid in behind Sam and griped, "You know, if anyone should be the bitch on back…"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam rasped.

The unicorn took off into the woods at a breakneck gallop. Dean had no choice but to hang on like a sissy to his little brother, pressed all up on him like a girl while they rode a freaking unicorn through the night.

Which left him on perhaps the weirdest night of his life, riding double with his brother on a freaking unicorn and _still_ wondering what in the holy hell was going on.

Dean had to admit, though, that freaking unicorn could run.

They had not gone far when Sam hunched closer over the unicorn's mane and croaked tightly, "… _stop_..."

Unicorn forgotten, Dean's instincts screamed at the tone in Sam's voice.

Something was wrong.

At once, the unicorn slowed to a halt. The second it did, Sam slid to the ground and collapsed. Dean's heart stopped. In front of him where Sam had been sitting, the unicorn's mane, shoulders, and back were red with blood.

"_SAM_?!" Dean jumped off the unicorn and knelt at his brother's side. Sam was curled around his midsection, holding his abdomen. "Hold on, Sam," Dean said as he fished into his pocket for his flashlight. When turned it on and got his first good look at Sam, he cursed. Sam's hands were covered in blood and his clothes around his stomach were darkened by it.

"Shit, Sam… what happened?" Dean thought at once of the unicorn's bloody horn.

"Warlock… shot me…" Sam hissed.

"Damnit," Dean wedged the flashlight between his elbow and thigh and pried Sam's hands away from the wound and pulled up the shirt. It was bad. Very bad. 'Even a Winchester would take this one to the hospital' bad.

"It's not too bad," Dean tried to sound reassuring.

Sam didn't answer as his eyes slipped shut. His silence was deafening.

"Sam?" Dean reached up to his brother's face. His skin was cold. Shock. Blood loss. Dean knew what followed quickly on their heels.

"Sam!" Dean pressed his hands down hard against his brother's wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He had already lost so much, though… too much.

Sam grumbled in pain but his muscles were growing lax, melting him limply into the damp foliage of the forest floor.

"_No_! Don't do this, Sam." They needed an emergency room. A doctor.

They were in the middle of nowhere and not about to get to either any time soon.

Sam's breathing started to catch weakly.

Dean panicked. "Sam! Come on, man, you stay with me! This is not how you die, Sammy. Not by some damn man witch! Now, _come on_!"

Sam went still beneath him.

Dean only knew Sam was still alive by the fresh trickle of blood coming up between his fingers. A stream of red that was growing less and less by the second.

Dean's heart was racing. He was losing his brother. Dean didn't know how to stop it. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out how he could save Sam. Stuck in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night, he couldn't think of a way to get Sam help in time.

'_Would you like me to take away his suffering_?'

Shocked by the melodic voice that sprung from deep inside his mind, because his ears definitely didn't hear it, Dean's eyes shot up. The unicorn was standing before him, watching him with those creepy blue eyes.

He had heard a voice, hadn't he? He wasn't so sure. He thought he must have, but the only other creature in sight was that freaking unicorn.

Dean blinked, wondering if he was losing his mind.

The unicorn took one step closer. '_Would you like me to take away his suffering_?'

It _was_ her. Dean couldn't believe it… it was the freaking unicorn talking to him in his head.

He'd boggle about that later. Right now, Sam was dying.

"Take away his suffering?" Dean repeated sharply.

The unicorn dipped her head faintly in what looked a lot like a nod.

Could it save Sam?

But unicorns belonged with the myths of leprechauns and goblins, neither of which Dean would trust as far as he could throw. He stared at the animal's bloody horn and shivered.

"You mean, like, take away the suffering of a horse with a broken leg? No thanks," Dean's fingers clenched tighter around Sam's seeping wound. Desperation and despair cracked his voice. "Get the hell away from us."

The unicorn looked sad. '_I can heal him. You and he saved me. Let me take away his suffering_.'

Sam's bleeding had slowed to almost nothing. Dean couldn't even tell if his little brother was breathing anymore.

At this point, Dean saw little choice. He stiffly nodded and leaned reluctantly away from Sam.

The unicorn stepped delicately up to Sam's sprawled body. She dipped her head further, closed her eyes, and touched the tip of her horn to Sam's forehead.

The forest was bombarded with a blinding light. Dean couldn't stop himself from looking away.

It seemed to last a heartbeat and a lifetime.

Dean looked back toward his brother and the brilliant light faded.

The unicorn stepped back.

Dean stared down at the body before him.

It was Sam, Dean knew, but only because Dean remembered what Sam had looked like at four years old. For that's what lay before him. A child. A little boy, little Sam Winchester, swimming in the bloody clothes of adult Sam and lying still as death with his eyes closed.

Dean gaped. He leaned down and felt a pulse in the little boy's neck. Dean pulled back the oversized clothes enough to see the abdominal wound had vanished.

Just when the night _could not_ get any weirder…

Dean looked up at the unicorn. Suddenly, he drew his gun, aimed it at the animal, and screamed, "_This_ is what you call fixing this?! What have you done to him??"

The unicorn looked confused by the gun aimed at it. '_I took away his suffering. He is better now_.'

Dean looked down at the small boy lying where he brother had been just seconds ago.

"He's practically a baby! How do you call this 'better'?"

The unicorn looked long at Dean. Dean felt uneasily like the freaking unicorn expected him to already know the answer to that question. '_I sought to take his pain. There were pains in his life beyond his wound. They are gone now. He is better_.'

Dean got the feeling it was the kind of conversation one would have arguing philosophy with a turtle.

Sam began to stir. Dean leaned closer and, for the moment, ignored the freaking unicorn. He held his gun in the general direction of the animal with one hand and touched Sam's cheek with the other. "Sam?" The boy groaned at his name. "Hey, open your eyes for me."

Sam did. He gazed up blearily at Dean. Dean managed a weak, harried smile for his especially little brother. Sam frowned in puzzlement at Dean, his eyes widened, and then he started to scream.

"Whoa! Hey, it's okay," Dean frantically tried to calm the boy, abandoning his weapon on the forest floor to hold up both hands in a non-threatening gesture at Sam.

The gesture was lost on the apoplectic little boy. He struggled against the voluminous clothes to sit up and attempt to back away from Dean. "Who are you?" Sam cried. Sam looked around desperately and began to wail harder. "Where am I? What's going on? Where's Dean? I want Dean! _DEAN_!!"

"Sam, it's _me_. _I'm_ Dean."

The boy emphatically shook his head, dark blond hair flopping over his forehead. "You're not my brother! You're _old_!" Sam began to shake. "Where's Dean?" he whimpered. Then Sam was reduced to inconsolable sobs.

At a loss for how to deal with his de-aged little brother, Dean almost didn't see the unicorn stepping closer. He had half a mind to shoot her, but instead he watched as she came up to Sam and gently pressed her velvet-soft muzzle against Sam's wet face. Sam immediately hiccupped, quieted, and gazed up at her in almost drunken, stupefied awe. She blinked at him then gently licked away the smear of blood on his forehead left by her transforming horn. Sam's eyes fluttered closed, then he swayed and sank to the ground in a deep sleep.

Dean rushed to his brother and checked his breathing and pulse again. Normal.

Sam seemed unhurt, merely asleep.

"What did you do?" Dean demanded.

'_I gave him peace_.'

"Well, while you're handing stuff out, how about giving me a freaking clue? What am I supposed to do with him now? Is he going to go back to his old self?"

The unicorn puzzled at him. '_I took his pain. I cannot give it back to him_. _I would not. He is free now_.'

"What the hell does that mean? So you mean I'm stuck with four-year-old Sam? Damnit, what am I supposed to do with that?! Why am I asking you? I can't believe I'm talking to a freaking unicorn!"

The unicorn, as though content that her job was done, turned and walked away, beginning to melt back into the forest. Dean watched her go, flabbergasted.

Just before she disappeared, the unicorn looked back once at Dean.

'_Take care of him. Give him joy where there had been suffering_.'

Then she was gone and Dean was alone with his unconscious brother who had been reduced to a small child.

Dean would give his left arm for cell phone coverage right about now. Surely Dad or Bobby would have some idea what to do, because Dean was fresh out.

Dean had no idea what to do about what had happened to Sam, but what Dean _did_ know how to do was take care of Sam.

While his brother slept peacefully, Dean extricated his tiny brother from the gargantuan clothes of six foot four Sam and used clean bits of Sam's old shirt to wipe the remaining blood off the miniature body of his brother. Then Dean shed his jacket, peeled out of his own t-shirt, and wrapped Sam in the black cotton. He put his jacket back on over his bare torso, feeling quite the man-whore from some kind of calendar shoot.

Dean gathered Sam up, tucked the sleeping child against his shoulder, and began to long walk out of the forest.

To Be Continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Sam started to come to in Wal-Mart while Dean was shopping for emergency kid supplies. They were a strange sight, a man in a leather jacket sans shirt underneath carrying around a sleeping boy swaddled in nothing but a man's t-shirt, but the Wal-Mart crowd at 2:40 a.m. didn't act like it was the strangest thing they'd seen and looked the other way.

When Sam groggily came to in the children's clothing section, Dean felt the little body tense in his arm. Dean hadn't put Sam down since the forest. He shopped one-handed. He was scared to let Sam out of his sight. Dean braced for another tantrum when he felt Sam awaken, but Sam only lay taut and uneasy against Dean's chest.

Afraid to press his luck, Dean made it a quick shopping trip and high-tailed it back to their hotel room with his purchases and shrunken little brother.

Inside the hotel room, Dean set Sam down on his own rumpled, unmade bed. He hastily flicked a skin magazine on the floor, out of sight, and upended a plastic bag of children's clothes on the mattress. Sam watched mutely with wide eyes, his legs drawn up to his chest and expression nervous and frightened.

Dean grabbed up the essentials and looked down at his little brother. The boy was completely freaked. He sighed. "Sam…?"

Sam looked up warily at Dean through a mop of sandy brown hair.

Dean hesitated. "Look, uh… you're a mess, kiddo. Why don't we clean you up and get you into some cozy PJs? How does that sound?"

Sam shrank back against the pillow, away from Dean, and didn't say anything.

Dean put the clothes in his hand down and went to the bedside. Sam shied. Dean knelt down beside the bed and looked up at his terrified, confused little brother. He wanted to touch him but feared the reaction that would elicit. "Hey, Sammy… I know this is confusing, but you have to trust me. I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe with me."

Sam buried his head in his knees and mumbled something.

Dean leaned closer. "What was that?"

Sam whimpered louder, "I want Dean."

Dean winced, the plea physically painful to hear, and he took a chance in reaching out and running a hand through Sam's hair. The boy let him, but he didn't look too happy about it. "I know you do, Sam." Dean edged closer. "But what do you think Dean would say about you going to bed all dirty like this?"

Sam peeked up at Dean.

"He'd probably be pretty unhappy about that, huh?" Dean asked with a faint smile.

Sam nodded reluctantly. "He'd call me… a dirty little piggy."

Dean laughed. He had, on several occasions when they were kids, before they got old enough to have a more colorful and offensive vocabulary. Calling him a piggy used to make little Sammy laugh.

"So why don't we clean you up before he finds out?"

Sam hesitated then, timidly, nodded. "That's a smart little man," Dean encouraged and stood. He picked Sam up off the bed and carried him to the tiny hotel bathroom. Sam stayed balled up, his arms in his lap, letting Dean carry him but not reaching out and touching him.

Dean felt like he'd stepped into the past as he gave Sam a bath. He couldn't count the number of times he'd done this when he was growing up. More times than even their father had. Sam had always been Dean's responsibility. Sam used to make bath time a perfect time to play and laugh with his brother. Dean remembered all the soap suds beards and mohawks they'd put on Sam during bath time, since they usually didn't have a whole lot of toys to play with in the tub. It never stopped them from finding ways to have fun. Bath time wasn't over until there was a sizable puddle on the floor to clean up and Dean was practically soaked.

This Sam sat, subdued and scared, while Dean washed the forest grim and dirt from his little body. When he was clean, Dean wrapped him in a towel and took him back to the main room, where he dressed Sam in the Superman pajamas he bought that night.

Sam hadn't said a word during it all, but he did not resist Dean's attentions. He may have even started to relax just a little, but Dean thought he could well have been imagining things and seeing what he wanted to see. It could have just as easily been exhaustion or shock… or both.

Finally, Sam was cleaned and dressed and looking unimaginably lost. Dean knelt down in front of Sam and searched his little face. All he saw was confusion and worry.

Dean desperately wanted to call Dad, ask him for help, but a glance at the clock showed it was nearly five in the morning. Sam looked barely conscious. Dean decided that, as sticky as this problem was, it would keep until morning. He was exhausted and so was Sam, and Dean had found over the years that sleep had a way of improving things. Sleep and food. And sex. He'd settle for sleep right now, though.

"Listen, Sam. I know it's been a really weird day. I promise, it will be easier tomorrow."

Sam didn't look so sure, but he nodded weakly.

As the light outside the hotel room blinds was growing light with dawn, Dean tucked Sam into big Sam's hotel bed, took a quick shower, put on boxers and a t-shirt, then climbed into his own bed a nightstand away from Sam's.

Dean could tell Sam wasn't sleeping by the sound of his breathing. He lay awake listening to Sam breathe tensely. When they were little, that was the way little Sammy breathed when he was trying to look brave for his big brother.

Sam's breathing pattern broke as Sam began to cry.

Dean really wanted to go back into the woods, find that freaking unicorn, and bitch slap it.

Dean's instinct was to go to Sam and try to make him feel better, but Dean wasn't exactly a comforting sight to the scared little boy. Dean just had to lie there and listen to his brother weep.

When Sam finally cried himself to sleep, Dean drifted off thinking 'what now?'

To Be Continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Dean slowly awoke from a deep sleep thinking he had just had the weirdest dream that _didn't_ involve clowns or midgets. He was coming around to his surroundings, shifted in bed… and froze when he felt another body pressed to his. Dean panicked, frantically trying to remember her name.

In the next second, he realized the body was far too small to be a woman, and that whoever it was smelled exactly like Sam.

That's when it came flooding back and Dean opened his eyes.

It was probably about one in the afternoon by Dean's internal clock. He was still in his bed, but Sam was no longer in his. Sometime in the night, Sam had slipped out of his bed and crawled in with Dean. The little boy was curled up against Dean's side, one little arm flung over Dean's chest. Dean hadn't woken up when he'd been joined in bed, but he noticed his arm was wrapped around Sam just the same.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, not yet willing to dislodge the boy and risk him waking. It gave him some time to think.

As insane as the whole matter was, it was a familiar scene. Sam had always been a snuggler as a baby. No matter what seedy motel, crappy apartment, or even the back of the Impala on long trips, that they were in, Dean couldn't keep Sam in his own bed or on his own side. Sam was seven before Dean finally kicked him out of his bed for good… except, of course, for the occasions when Sam was sick, or hurt, or upset, or when they only had one bed.

Last night Sam had been several of the above, and he had probably gone to Dean out of mindless instinct. Young Sam had had a homing-beacon-accurate like talent for finding Dean in a dazed, sleep-induced stupor and curling up with him. It worried Dean now how Sam might react to finding himself in Dean's arms when he woke, since he knew fully-conscious Sam didn't recognize Dean as Dean, which was a very good reason Dean wanted to postpone that moment.

It left him back to the dilemma of what to do with his shrunken little brother. He didn't even know where to start. How to counteract unicorn mojo when unicorns hadn't existed to him until a few hours ago? He hoped like hell Dad had some information on unicorns.

Dean scowled. Who was he kidding? He just hoped like hell Dad answered his phone when Dean called him. The chances of that seemed about as remote as finding that unicorn again and getting the secrets of the universe out of her.

Dean's backup plan would be to call Bobby.

It sat ill with Dean, but he admitted privately to himself that he had more luck getting help from Bobby than their father.

Sam slowly started to wake up, and Dean put his worries on hold to see how the boy was going to react.

Sam didn't run back to his own bed like Dean had half expected him to do. He stayed snuggled up next to Dean, but the arm across Dean's chest did pull back and tucked nervously into Sam's little body, a conscious and deliberate act of retreat.

Dean held his breath.

Tentatively, Sam lifted his head from Dean's arm-turned-pillow and peered closely at his older brother's face. He frowned thoughtfully with all the cerebral wisdom of a four-year-old. Dean studied the boy's face, a face he'd known so well so long ago, and waited.

Sam finally whispered, "Who are you?"

Dean swallowed and forced a smile. "I'm Dean."

Sam scowled. "You're not my brother."

"Well," Dean said, deciding right then that trying to make a four-year-old understand the truth might make him start crying again, "there are probably lots of people named Dean, right?"

Sam gave a one-shoulder shrug and ducked his eyes.

"How do you feel, Sam?" Dean asked gently, unconsciously hugging Sam a little closer. "Does anything hurt?" 'Like where you were shot?' Dean thought.

Sam bit his lip and shook his head.

Dean shifted so he was sitting more upright with his shoulders pressed against the headboard. He opened his arm to invite Sam to snuggle back against his side, but Sam sat up forlornly in the same spot where he'd woken up, tiny hands twisting anxiously together.

Dean frowned and dropped his arm. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

Sam didn't react at first, then his eyes began to widen in rising panic. He looked up at Dean. "I… I don't 'member." From his reaction, Dean suspected that Sam's answer was rather general… that he didn't concretely remember much of anything.

"Hey, that's okay. Don't worry about it." Dean sat up and leaned in toward Sam. Sam didn't back away, but the look he turned up to Dean was woeful and made Dean want to shoot something. Like a unicorn. Or man witches. Both.

"Sammy… I want you to listen to me, okay? I know you're pretty scared and confused right now. I would be too, if I were you. But I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I'll keep you safe. I promise."

Sam's lip quivered like he was going to cry again, but he sniffled, wiped his face with the back of one hand, then nodded stiltedly. "Like… like m'brother."

Dean smiled. "Yeah. Just like that." Dean's eyes drifted to his cell phone on the nightstand.

"Hey, Sam… how about we try to find some cartoons on TV?"

Sam gave a shrug, paused, then picked at the hem of his blue pajama top. "Um… Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam bit his lip. "'M hungry."

Dean got up from the bed. "Well, I bet you are. Here, let's see what I have in my bag over there." Dean went to his duffel on the dresser, dug around, and came out with a Snickers bar. Not exactly on the food pyramid, but it would do for now.

"Here you go, kiddo." Dean tossed the bar on the bed in front of Sam. Sam's eyes widened. "I can have _candy_ for breakfast?" Sam was _almost_ smiling. To a kid, candy for breakfast was like winning the lottery.

Dean smiled and winked at him. "Sure, just as long as you promise to keep it a secret."

Sam nodded vigorously and picked up the candy bar, wrestling with the wrapper while Dean flipped through the TV channels. He lucked out and found the Ninja Turtles, the old cartoon (the GOOD one, not that modern CGI crap), and Sam scooted to the edge of the bed to see better.

Dean dressed, grabbed his phone, and went to the hotel room door. "Hey, Sammy?"

Sam looked at him.

"I'm going to step outside for just a few minutes, but I'm going to be right outside the window. You'll be able to see me the whole time. If you need anything, knock on the glass, okay?"

Sam nodded and turned back to the cartoon.

Once outside, Dean hit the speed dial for his father. He waited anxiously during the muted rings. "Pick up, Dad. Pick up."

Dean sagged when he got the same recorded message telling the caller to contact Dean if they needed help. Dean groaned. What was the caller supposed to do if he _was_ Dean and needed help?

After the message beep, Dean said, "Dad? It's Dean. We're in trouble. We were on a hunt last night and Sam was shot. This…" Dean couldn't bring himself to actually say _it_, "this _creature_, it healed him… but it turned Sam into a four-year-old. I don't know what's going on or how to fix it, Dad. I've never heard of anything like this. I could use your help."

Dean hung up and glanced back toward the hotel room door. Frowning, he scrolled through another speed dial.

This time, it was answered. "Bobby Singer."

"Bobby, it's Dean."

"What's wrong?"

Dean almost chuckled darkly. No one in their business made casual phone calls to see how things were going.

"It's Sam."

"Is he all right?"

"Well… that depends."

Bobby was quiet a moment. "Just tell me what happened."

Dean started spilling the whole story. He started and it just began to tumble out. Bobby listened quietly until Dean was done, ending with four-year-old Sam sitting in the hotel room eating candy and watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

After a pause, Bobby asked, "You're _sure_ it was a unicorn?"

"Yes, Bobby, I'm sure! And _please_ don't tell me they don't exist, because I really need you to have some answers here." Even to his own ears, Dean sounded desperate.

"They're real, or at least were at one time… I don't think anyone's seen one for a few hundred years, and even then the sightings were rarer than Bigfoot, which is probably why even most hunters agree they don't exist and never have. Hell, I thought they were extinct."

"Is there information on how to reverse this curse?"

"I don't think it's a curse, Dean."

"What? How can it not be? Sam's a baby again!"

Bobby's voice had the tone of 'talking on the level of the densest Winchester.' "Unicorn mythology is ripe with ties to innocence and purity. They were, according to lore, immensely powerful magical creatures."

"Great," Dean muttered.

"Would you let me finish?" Bobby snapped. "I was going to say that they're probably the only creature with that kind of power that has never once been documented to have abused it. Pure power that is used for pure good. That's why they're extinct now, or so I thought up until you called me."

"Huh?"

"Can you imagine all the sadistic, evil crap in the world allowing something as good and innocent as a unicorn to exist? Drove all manner of demons and evil spirits rabid and hell-bent on seeing every unicorn on the face of the earth wiped out. I'd always believed they managed it, too."

"Fascinating," Dean said tersely, "but I fail to see how any of this helps Sam shake off this unicorn curse."

"That's what I'm _getting_ at. Unicorns are supposed to be the real deal, kid. It wouldn't have done this to Sam out of malice, Dean. Unicorns just don't have it in them."

"Well, this one had some malice in it. I'm pretty damn sure it speared a man witch with that horn of hers."

"Warlock," Bobby corrected, then he paused again. "It must have been protecting Sam."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "For a guy who's never seen or met one of these things, you're pretty quick to jump to its defense."

"Unicorns are too pure of spirit to turn dark. Even curses and hexes, and I mean the serious kind of crap high-power witches play with, can't touch them. But to defend an innocent, one pure of heart… More I think about it, the more it makes sense."

"Well, please, share. Because I am lost."

"Dean… say what you will about your brother, but that kid's got a heart of gold. Unicorns are drawn to that kind of purity. In lore, the only way to capture one was to lure it with a virgin. The purity and chastity of the maiden was like unicorn chum."

"I got news for you, Bobby. Sam's not a virgin."

"It was a metaphor, you ass. Have you ever met anyone who was a better, more virtuous person than Sam?"

Dean slumped in defeat. "No. Not even close."

"That's the kind of soul a unicorn would kill for, even if it wouldn't kill to save its own life."

"But why turn him into a kid? Why not just heal him?"

"You said it yourself, Dean. She said there was pain in his life that she couldn't bear. In her mind, she gave Sam a great gift."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose at an oncoming headache. "So what do we do? If I track down this unicorn, can she change him back?"

"Doubt it. The way she sees it, you'd be asking her to cause him to suffer. It would kill her to do that to him."

Dean rolled his eyes. "So, what else is there?"

He could hear Bobby flipping through pages. "I'll look around and see what else I've got. Where are you boys now?"

"Virginia."

"That's a few days away from me… why don't you boys make your way here? Hopefully I'll have something by the time you get here."

"We'll leave today," Dean promised.

"All right. Watch after Sam."

"Okay… hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you heard from my dad lately?"

"No, I haven't. Sorry, kid."

Dean hung up and braced his hands on the porch railing.

He wasn't sure how long he was out there, but the sound of the hotel door behind him opening made him turn. Sam was standing in the doorway, barefoot and peeking out at Dean, still dressed in his Superman PJs.

"What is it, Sammy?"

"Turtles are over," Sam said and tentatively stepped outside. He edged closer to Dean, looked out into the parking lot… and froze, wide-eyed.

Dean looked quickly for any suspicious characters, primed and ready to dive into the hotel room for his gun, but the lot was empty.

Sam stammered, "You… you have the 'Pala."

Dean looked over at his car. Dad's car. The car Dean and Sam practically grew up in.

"Yeah, uh… your dad gave it to me."

Sam looked up at Dean, shocked. "Is my dad here?"

Dean winced. "No, he isn't."

Sam's eyes teared up and his voice broke with frail hope, "What about Dean?"

Dean didn't know exactly how to answer. "There's just me, kiddo."

Sam hiccupped, on the verge of crying again.

Dean reflexively scooped Sam up and held him. "Hey, Sammy, it's going to be okay. I'm going to watch out for you, remember?"

Sam nodded sadly. Then, almost hesitantly, he laid his head on Dean's shoulder. It wasn't so much that Sam was warming up to Dean as it was the fact that Sam was a scared, lonely baby who needed comfort as much as he needed air and was turning to Dean as the only place he could find it.

Dean hugged the boy close, closing his eyes. "Ah, Sammy…"

Sam's little arms moved as though to wrap around Dean's neck, but they stopped shy and fell back to his sides limply. It hurt Dean not to have Sam's trust and faith… they were universal constants in his life that he'd grown used to. Even when they were children and fighting like siblings do, Sam had still known he was safe with Dean.

That security of absolute knowledge was gone, and the boy left behind was all the more lost for it.

"Hey, Sam…" Dean said lowly, "I was thinking we could go on a road trip, how does that sound? We could visit one of my good friends. Would you like that?"

Sam pulled away from Dean's shoulder and worried the neckline of Dean's shirt with tiny fingers. "Will my brother be there?"

Dean wanted so desperately to say yes, to say 'I'm right here, Sam,' but he settled for a heartfelt, "It'll be just me, you, and Bobby, Sam."

Sam sighed and dragged up his gaze to look Dean in the eye.

After a second studying Dean's eyes, Sam frowned, puzzled.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

Sam stared Dean long and hard in the eye, then dropped his gaze and mumbled, "My tummy hurts."

Dean carried Sam back into the room and closed the door behind him with his foot. "Well, that's what happens when you eat candy for breakfast. Guess it was kind of my fault though, huh? Let's pack up the car and we'll find something real to eat on our way out of town, okay?"

Sam shrugged feebly and squirmed to be put down. When Dean complied, Sam quietly climbed back up into the nest of unmade blankets and sheets left from where Dean had slept. Sam curled up against Dean's pillow as though it were a teddy bear, closed his eyes, took in a deep breath… and started to cry.

Dean officially hated unicorns more than he hated flying.

He went to the bed and rested his hand on Sam's hitching back. The boy tightened his body at the touch and clung tighter to Dean's pillow, screwing his eyes shut and crushing the pillow into his face as though his life depended on it.

"Shhh… Sam," Dean whispered, in agony as his little brother kept crying. "Does your stomach hurt that bad?"

Sam sobbed and gripped the pillow tighter, his face pressed tight into the hard hotel pillow down. Dean was scared Sam would suffocate himself.

Dean did the only thing he could think of. He did what he used to do when Sam was four the first time and Dean, in all his mature wisdom, had been all of eight, and his baby brother got this upset. He plied Sam gently but determinedly from the pillow and gathered him up into his arms. Sam, deprived of the pillow, wailed louder, face red and eyes puffy.

Dean tucked Sam into his chest, despite the boy's half-hearted wriggling, and Dean began to sway on his feet. To and fro, a steady rhythm of lulling that he had not danced in ages but which returned to him as though it had only been yesterday. He'd rocked his little brother like this more times than John Winchester had.

And as Dean had done a lifetime ago, he began to sing.

Low and soft to match his voice to motion, Dean sang the one song he'd used with baby Sammy more than any others, the one that had worked the best.

"I don't know where I'm going… but I sure know where I've been… hanging on the promises and the songs of yesterday..."

Sam's cries began to ebb as Dean continued to sway and sing.

"And I've made up my mind… I ain't wasting no more time… here I go again…"

Sam was quiet but for a few sniffles and hiccups. His body was no longer taut in Dean's embrace. Dean rubbed one hand up and down the length of Sam's spine. It was more reflex than conscious thought. Memories became the now.

And Dean kept swaying and singing.

"Though I keep searching for an answer… never seem to find what I'm looking for… oh lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on…"

Sam pulled back from Dean's shoulder to stare at him, an almost trace-like look in his bright hazel eyes. Dean wiped away Sam's tears, and all the time he sang.

"Cause I know what it means… to walk along the lonely street of dreams…"

Sam opened his mouth as though to speak and Dean stopped singing and he stopped swaying. "Sammy?"

"… _Dean_?"

Dean's heart lodged in his throat. The way Sam said his name… it was almost like he… could he…?

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean croaked. His heart was racing. Let Sam remember him. Please, let Sam remember.

The look of a breakthrough on the cusp faded from Sam's eyes and he looked confused in its wake. He frowned and blinked.

Dean sighed sadly. He cupped the back of Sam's head gently with one hand and kissed him lightly on the forehead. Sam, in answer, folded against Dean. Dean stood a long time in silence holding his brother, his mind racing.

How did this crap happen to the Winchester boys?

To Be Continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Sam seemed to feel better after a Happy Meal from the kid cure-all McDonald's, even if they'd opted for the drive-through so they could eat in the Impala in the hardware store parking lot because it was free of clowns.

Dean's next stop was another dreaded but necessary shopping excursion. He had expected to find a way to get Sam back to normal quickly and so last night he had only bought the bare essentials for a short period of time. If Sam's temporary condition was going to be less temporary than he'd initially planned, the boy would need more than one set of pajamas and a single set of clothes. Not that Dean had gotten to take the tags off the mini shirt and jeans he'd bought last night. Sam had asked so forlornly if he could wear his Superman pajamas out and Dean, at that point willing to do just about anything to cheer up his brother, had relented. Still, sooner or later, the PJs had to come off, so shopping it was.

The closest store on their way toward Bobby's was Target. Dean took Sam in, grudgingly appropriated a cart, placed Sam in the seat, and steered toward the clothing section.

Sam spotted a Superman t-shirt almost at once and squirmed to be let out of the cart. Dean extricated him, set him down, and smirked to himself as Sam made a bee line to the blue shirt with the red and yellow S on the front. It went in the cart. Dean's contribution was a pint-sized AC/DC shirt. Sam picked out a faux leather jacket that looked a lot like Dean's. Plain white socks and Spiderman underwear (acceptable because they would be covered and the mixing of superheroes hidden) went in the basket.

They were meandering through the racks of clothes when Sam spied the toy section. He didn't say anything, but Dean could see the little guy dying to go over and look.

It was a relief to see Sam look interested and eager as opposed to terrified and withdrawn and Dean had a moment of weakness.

"Sammy? Why don't you go pick out a toy?"

Sam looked up at him, his eyes saying 'really?' in wonder.

Dean nodded in encouragement. "Just remember we'll have to take it with us on our road trip so make sure it's something kinda small."

Sam cracked the barest smile before he remembered he was supposed to be lost and miserable and darted over to the other side of the aisle.

Dean watched after him and smiled.

"Your son's adorable."

Dean blinked at the unexpected voice and looked over at a young brunette woman who had apparently been watching the two. She smiled sweetly at Dean.

Dean was speechless a moment. Sam his son? Dean realized it might be the most practical lie to tell. It wouldn't make sense that people would assume they were brothers, given their apparent age difference now, and Sam and Dean _did_ share a family resemblance.

Besides, the rather hot chick seemed to like the idea. Dean hadn't counted on little Sam being such a chick magnet. From the taken look on the woman's face, Sam was better than a puppy for drawing in the hotties.

If only Dean didn't feel so tied up in knots with worry about Sam to really, fully enjoy it.

"Oh, Sammy? Yeah, he is, and he knows it, too. Turns on those puppy dog eyes and gets just about anything he wants."

The woman laughed. "He should be a real heart-breaker when he grows up. Much like his dad, I imagine."

Dean smiled cockily.

"I'm Candice," she said, offering her left hand. When Dean took her hand with his own, he was actually surprised when she obviously gave his hand a surreptitious look. Dean knew a wedding ring check when he saw one, it was just that the chicks he attracted usually wouldn't care if he was married or not.

Dean had to shake off the willies at the idea of 'married and settled' Dean Winchester.

Dean dropped her hand after a shake and a smile. "I'm Dean. So, where's yours? I mean, unless you have to shop in the children's section for clothes small enough to fit you."

The woman snorted in a familiar 'I'm acting perturbed but we both know I think you're edible' sound. "I'm looking for a birthday present for my nephew. I don't suppose you could help me out? He's about your son's age, but I don't really know what boys his age like."

"Well, uh… Sammy's kind of old fashioned in the stuff he likes," Dean hedged as he glanced toward Sam to check on him. The young Winchester was pondering the stuffed animal section.

Dean smiled disarmingly at Candice. "I guess I got him hooked on the stuff I liked when I was a kid. There's probably something cool all the kids are into these days, but I have no idea what it might be." Dean looked down into his cart and Sam's choice of shirts. "Superheroes are always pretty boss."

"Well, Superman _is_ pretty wonderful." Candice smiled… and blushed.

Dean blinked in surprise. "Seriously? Superman?"

Candice flushed darker. "I'm not the only one still holding a candle for that one. And why not? What's not to love about Superman?" Candice looked over at Sam digging through the stuffed animals, decked in his Superman PJs. She smiled. "And I'd say Sammy agrees with me." She chuckled. "His mother lets him go out like that?"

'Real smooth,' Dean thought wryly. For a moment he tried to think of the best lie… and realized it would be mostly the truth.

"Sam's mom died in a house fire when he was a baby."

Candice blanched slightly. "Oh… oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

Dean waved it off. "It was a long time ago."

"So you've been taking care of your son all by yourself?"

Dean smiled, this time ironically heartsick. Aside from the son part, it was basically true. It had been true when they were kids and their dad ran off on his hunts time and again. It had always been Dean looking after Sam.

"Yep, just the two of us."

Candice was looking at Dean with a look of admiration and respect in her eyes Dean wasn't used to getting so earnestly from such an earnest woman. It was almost unsettling. Candice averted her eyes when she seemed to realize the effect her gaze had had, then cleared her throat. "I think that's a very selfless, heroic thing for you to do."

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, uneasy with the turn of conversation and how quickly it had gotten deeper than Dean usually ever got with the women he met.

Dean was grateful when Sam came trotting back up to him with a stuffed toy clutched to his chest. Dean hid a frown. Dean would have picked something manlier than a teddy bear, but…

Dean squinted when Sam got closer. "What have you got there, Sammy?"

Sam was eyeing Candice uncertainly but looked up at Dean and offered him the toy. Dean took it… and gaped. It was a stuffed unicorn. A white horse with a yellow sewn cloth horn on its forehead.

Dean looked critically at Sam. Did he remember? There was nothing haunted in the boy's eyes as he studied his find in Dean's hand. Still… Sam had never been into unicorns as a kid. Why now?

"Wow," Candice said. "That's a really nice unicorn, Sammy."

Sam edged over to Dean shyly and hid behind Dean's legs, peeking past Dean's jeans at the woman.

Dean, still grappling with the toy Sam had chosen, covered lamely, "He's shy."

Candice smiled so gently even Dean was calmed by it.

"I'm Candice. Your dad was just telling me what a cool boy you are."

Sam opened his mouth, maybe to disavow Dean as his father or maybe to say hi, Dean didn't know. Before Sam could speak, Dean dropped his hand to Sam's head and gently ruffled his hair. Distracted, Sam looked up at Dean. Dean looked pointedly down at Sam, willing the kid to get it.

Even at four, Sam had been sharp. Sam closed his mouth, swallowed, and wrapped an arm around Dean's thigh.

Candice looked back up at Dean and smiled cordially. "I guess I should leave you boys to it. It was nice to meet you, Sammy."

Sam, still hidden behind Dean's legs, braved to stick out a hand and wave.

Candice laughed and looked at Dean. "So long, Dean."

Dean didn't even indulge in the view of Candice walking away. Instead, he turned around and knelt down to peer into Sam's face. "Sammy… are you sure this is the one you want?" Dean held up the unicorn between them.

Sam nodded.

"Because we could, you know, maybe find you a Superman action figure or a toy truck…" 'something less girly and way less freaky,' Dean thought, but did not say.

Sam's eyes widened and he grabbed the stuffed unicorn as though Dean meant to rip it away from him.

Dean held up his hands. "Okay, if that's what you want, Sammy." Dean stood, put one hand on the cart handle and held out the other for Sam. Sam put his hand in Dean's without pause and Dean took them to the checkout line.

Dean stashed their loot in the trunk of the Impala (smirking at the blast from the past it was to heap children's clothing on top of their arsenal), closed the trunk, and buckled Sam into the passenger side of the car. He got behind the wheel himself and glanced at Sam sitting quietly with the toy unicorn cradled on his lap. Frowning to himself, Dean started the car, pulled out of the parking lot, and merged on to the highway, headed toward Bobby's.

After a few minutes, Dean couldn't stand it.

"Sam? What made you pick the unicorn?"

Sam twined the fuzzy mane hairs around his fingers a moment in silence before he said, "She protects me."

Dean's head snapped around to look at Sam.

Sam looked up innocently. "She'll keep me safe when you aren't there to do it."

Dean opened and closed his mouth dumbly a second. "Sam… I'll _always_ be there to protect you."

Sam sighed. "I know _that_, but you have to sleep. Saina doesn't."

"Saina?" A strange chill crept up Dean's spine.

"That's her name."

Dean couldn't explain how, but he knew that was right.

To Be Continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Dean lunged for his cell phone before it could ring a second time and possibly wake up Sam. He hit the 'send' button, and before he even brought it to his ear he darted a look at Sam. The boy was still sacked out on the hotel bed, dead to the world.

Then, for a brief instant, Dean had the wild idea that it could be his dad finally calling him back.

"Yeah?" he stage-whispered into the phone.

"Dean?"

Dean sighed. "Hey, Bobby. Have you found anything on turning Sam back to normal?"

"Not yet, but I'm still looking. How is Sam?"

"Right now, down for the count. There were still a few more hours of daylight left, but Sam was getting antsy in the car, so I called it a day and we're holed up in some motel outside of…" Dean tried to grasp the town name. "Ah, hell, I don't know where we are. We're not far from where we were yesterday, though." Dean frowned. "We're not making good time."

Bobby snorted. "I'm not expecting you on my doorstep at 0500, so relax. You'll get here when you get here. Won't matter at the moment, since I'm still holding my ass for finding anything to change Sam."

"That was a mental image I did not need, Bobby."

"Like you haven't heard three times as bad from your old man… you told him about Sam yet?"

Dean looked back at his sleeping brother. "I left him a voicemail. He hasn't called me back."

The silence was reproachful. "That father of yours can be a real dick."

Dean was usually so quick to defend his father, but he had to swallow his tongue on this one.

"So how has Sam been handling the situation?"

Dean was thankful for a change in topic. "He was totally freaked out at first. He kept screaming for me, you know, little kid me. He's still pretty shell-shocked, but he's been doing better. At least he trusts me." Dean sat down on the windowsill, watching his brother as he spoke. "I don't know what I'm supposed to tell him. I didn't really give it much thought before because I didn't think it mattered. I was going to get my pain in the ass, freakishly tall Sam back. But… hell, what if I _can't_ get him back? What if he really _is_ stuck like this, Bobby?"

"Son… I hate to be the downer here, but there's a pretty good chance Sam's not going to be getting back to his prior age without getting there the old-fashioned way."

Dean scrubbed his free hand through his hair. "Then what the hell do I do?"

"Wish I knew, kid. This is your brother, and when it comes to Sam I always trust that you know best."

Dean snorted.

There was a long, pregnant pause, then Bobby asked, "If Sam's looking at reliving his childhood, are you going to give him back to your dad?"

Dean stiffened. It made all the sense in the world, Sam was John's son, _Sam_ knew that much, but still a knee-jerk part of Dean screamed '_no_'. He was troubled because he couldn't say why _that_ was his gut answer.

"That's assuming I ever get a hold of him," Dean groused. "Or even that Dad would want him," Dean sagged.

"Dean?"

"Hell, Bobby… growing up, it always felt like we were baggage to Dad. I know there were times he wished we weren't around. When I got older and joined the hunt, I understood why he felt that way. Children are a liability to a hunter. I don't even want to count the times we were almost killed because of what our dad did for a living. And Dad's _still_ a hunter, Bobby."

"So are you."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shit. I don't know what to do."

"Look, just get here, take it one day at a time, and who knows… something could pop up to fix all this. I mean, I'm sure stranger things must have happened."

"You're filling me with confidence."

"Go see to your brother," Bobby ordered kindly.

Dean hung up his phone and looked across the room, studying his brother. Sam had his unicorn tucked under his chin, his little body curled underneath Dean's leather jacket that his big brother had laid over the boy when he nodded off watching Dean scour the phone book for take-out places that delivered.

Dean flipped his phone open again, scrolled through his address book to 'DAD' and hesitated. With a grunt of frustration, Dean slapped his phone shut and threw it on his untouched bed.

Peacefully resting Sammy suddenly tensed and began to squirm. He whimpered, and Dean was moving before he realized he'd stood up.

Sam was clinging to his unicorn in his sleep, mumbling incoherently and breathing quickly.

"Sammy?" Dean knelt at the bedside.

"…_Dean_…"

Familiar now with that stabbing pain in his chest that answered his brother's pleas, Dean reached out and brushed his fingers through Sam's baby-fine hair. "Sam… wake up, kiddo."

Sam's face screwed in his sleep, then he gasped and his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he stared in confusion at Dean, visibly sorting it out.

When the kid was aware of where he was, Dean smiled gently. "You okay? Looks like it was a pretty bad nightmare you were having."

Sam nodded weakly.

"Want to tell me about it?"

Sam shook his head and tugged Saina closer to his cheek.

"That's cool. We don't have to do the chick flick moment. Want me to try and find some cartoons on the TV?" Dean offered.

Sam shook his head.

Dean, frustrated, asked as calmly as he could, "What _do_ you want, Sam?"

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

Sam looked up meaningfully at him, and Dean sighed in weariness when he realized Sam hadn't been addressing him but asking for him… just another him.

Dean lifted his eyes to Sam sadly. "I'm really sorry, Sam… there's only me."

Sam blinked slowly at him a moment, then he inched back on the bed away from Dean. Dean, wounded, pulled his hand away.

"No…" Sam blurted at the loss of contact. "Don't… could you…"

"Sam?"

Sam bit his bottom lip. "Could you sit with me?"

Dean smiled. "Sure, I can do that." Dean slid on to the bed in the space Sam had vacated, the pillows at the small of his back and shoulders on the headboard, and Sam paused for a heartbeat then inched toward Dean. When Dean didn't fend him off, Sam grew bolder and snuggled into Dean's side. Dean fetched the askew leather jacket, pulled it around Sam, then wrapped his arm around Sam and pulled him close to his body.

Sam pinned the unicorn between his arm and Dean's stomach and pillowed his small head on Dean's chest. He took a deep breath.

He froze.

"Dean…?"

"Yeah?"

Sam lifted his head to look at Dean, and again there was that look of intense scrutiny. It was almost like being caught out by someone unusually clever when Dean was masquerading as a cop or FBI agent. It was doubly unnerving when it was coming from a four-year-old. "What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Sam's little brows furrowed in consternated confusion. "I just… you smell like him."

Dean didn't know how to respond to that.

"Do you think he misses me?" Sam asked in a small, barely audible voice.

"Your brother?"

Sam nodded meekly.

"I know for a fact he misses you like hell, Sam."

Sam pondered that a long time. "S'just… Dean gets tired of me a lot, you know, 'cause he's got to take care of the baby so that means he can't do growed up stuff."

"Sammy… your brother loves you."

"I know he does… but sometimes he doesn't like me that much." Sam's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "Maybe… maybe he's happy I'm not with him."

That was too much. "Listen, Sam… I've got a little brother, and even when I'm ticked at him and I think I don't want to be around him, he's still my best friend in the whole world."

"He is?" Sam gaped up in hope and wonder.

"Hell yeah, he is. So what if he makes me mad sometimes? That's what brothers do, right?"

Sam nodded vigorously. Then he stopped, looked speculative, and glanced pointedly at Dean. "What's _your_ brother's name?"

Dean blinked. What exactly was going on here? He had that feeling he used to get with adult Sam, when he was pretty damn sure the kid was running intellectual circles around him when Dean couldn't even figure out what the question was. Dean had no clue what Sam might be working out, but he knew he couldn't outright lie to Sam. He just wasn't sure how he'd take the honest truth. "His name's Sam."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean like big Sam used to scowl at a semi-auto that kept jamming and he couldn't figure out why. It was wheels turning Sam Winchester.

Question was, where would Sam be when the wheels stopped?

Dean was still worrying about the answer when Sam pulled away from Dean and sat up facing him. The boy studied him with a troubled look and Dean dreaded asking why.

"Sam? What is it?"

Sam dug underneath Dean's jacket and pulled out the unicorn toy. He curled his arms around it and asked in a tiny voice, "Dean… am I ever gonna see my brother again?"

Dean was pretty sure his heart stopped. Slowly, to delay answering, he sat up and scooted back against the headboard. Sam was watching him, tears swimming in his eyes.

"I want you to listen to me, Sammy. I am going to do _everything_ I can to get you and your brother back together, just like things were before." Dean sighed. "It could just take a while."

"How long?" Sam whimpered.

"I don't know… maybe a long time." 'If at all,' Dean thought, but he couldn't say the last part. Not when Sam was already beginning to cry. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and his chin was quivering.

Dean swore to make his new mission in life hunting down unicorns and forcing them to watch poor Sam cry so he could ask them how that was _better_.

"Come here," Dean cooed and he stood from the bed, bent over, and scooped Sam up in his arms. Sam curled against Dean's shoulder and sobbed, "I miss my brother."

Dean swayed to and fro. "Shhhh… I know you do." Dean cupped the back of Sam's head. "I know it's not what you want, but you've got _me_, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere."

Sam seemed unmoved by Dean's words, but the boy's arms did come up around Dean's neck.

Not immediately realizing he was doing it, Dean began to sing softly in an effort to calm Sam down.

"Though I keep searching for an answer… never seem to find what I'm looking for… oh lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on… Cause I know what it means… to walk along the lonely street of dreams…"

The boy's sobs slacked marginally.

"Here I go again on my own… going down the only road I've ever known…" Dean began to walk the room, rubbing Sam's back and holding him close to his chest. "Like a drifter I was born to walk alone…"

"Dean?"

The small voice took Dean by surprise and he stopped walking, drew back his head to peer at Sam, and asked quietly, "Yeah, Sammy?"

The boy, his face tear-streaked, mumbled meekly, "That's the song my brother sings to me."

Dean's chest felt heavy and his voice carried the weight. "I know."

Sam's little forehead crinkled and again that searching, disquieting look as Sam really, closely studied his older brother.

"I… Dean, I…" Sam looked away, upset again.

"What?"

Sam bit his lip. "I… I try to 'member Dean's face, but I… I _can't_. Just sorta. When I try to close my eyes and think 'bout what he looks like," Sam fought tears of distress again, "all I see is _you_." Sam started trembling. "_Why_? Why can't I 'member my brother?!"

Dean felt an edge of panic. "Sam… please, _please_, don't cry."

"I'm gonna forget my brother!" Sam hiccupped.

Dean went back to his bed, sat down, and arranged Sam in his lap. The boy was curling up on himself, the unicorn clutched to his chest. He seemed beyond tears. This was an agony beyond weeping gripping the boy.

"Sam… I want you to listen to me."

Sam looked blearily up at Dean.

"I'll tell you something about people," Dean said gently. "How they look changes. People get older, they get fatter, they get skinnier, they turn their hair pink…"

Sam cracked a thin smile.

Dean grinned. "So it's not the picture of them that's important. What is important is how they feel about you. You remember that your brother loves you, right?"

Sam nodded.

"You know his most important job in the whole world is, and always will be, looking after you?"

Sam nodded.

"You know he'll be your brother forever, no matter what?"

Again, Sam nodded.

Dean brushed a hand through the boy's hair. "Then you'll _never_ lose Dean."

Sam smiled a little and sniffled. "Dean…"

"Yeah?"

"You're almost as smart as my brother."

Dean laughed. "Your brother must be _really_ smart."

Sam nodded more vigorously. "He is real smart. And brave. And he always makes me feel better."

Dean hugged Sam to him. "Sounds like a real awesome dude, this brother of yours."

Sam chuckled faintly. "He says so, too."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure."

For a moment they sat in silence, Dean rocking faintly while Sam sat curled in his lap. Then, almost tentatively, Sam snaked his arms around Dean's chest and clung to him.

To Be Continued…


	6. Chapter 6

Sammy looked up from the hole he'd been digging in the sandbox and his eyes scanned the playground. He saw Dean, sitting on a bench and watching him, and Sam felt safe again.

Dean made him feel safe, just like his brother did. He was confused about a lot of things, stuff didn't make sense all the time, but he knew Dean would make sure nothing bad happened to him.

And Dean did things to make him happy. Like earlier, when they were passing through this town and Sam saw the playground. He hadn't _said_ he wanted to go play on it. He remembered Dad would growl about no time for that or tell him to be quiet if Sam asked for something like that. So he didn't ask Dean, because he knew that it was just something he didn't get to do.

But Dean surprised him. Dean said, "Hey, Sam… saw you checking that sweet playground out. Let's take a break, huh? I could stretch my legs."

Sam had been so excited. Sometimes, Dean made him so happy about things he forgot just how much his father wasn't there and how much his brother was gone. Every day that got a little easier.

It helped that Dean could be a lot of fun.

Sam had been a little scared of all the other children on the playground when they got out of the 'Pala. Usually, his big brother would take him to playgrounds and go do all the stuff with him. This time, he was alone. He had wanted to play on the playground, but he stood next to Dean holding his hand and looking at all the kids and got scared.

But Dean made it okay. He went around with Sam to all the rides (like the little kid slide and the monkey bars), and he did just the same stuff his brother always had. Dean caught him at the bottom of the slide, and stood under him with open arms when Sam was on the monkey bars, and Dean played chase and tag with him until they both couldn't breathe and were laughing.

Sam was feeling braver then, so he said he was going to go play in the sandbox all by himself. Dean smiled and said he'd be watching if Sam needed him.

Every time Sam looked up from his pit, Dean was doing just what he'd said he would be. Watching him. Sometimes he smiled and waved, but mostly he was just _there_.

Sam wasn't used to being able to count on anyone but his brother like that.

Sam didn't want to make his brother mad or anything, so he'd never tell him that Sam had decided (quite grown-uply) that he loved this Dean, too.

Happy, Sam went back to digging in his pit.

A little girl next to him was trying to bury her Barbie doll but wasn't doing a good job. She didn't want to get really dirty.

Sam, shy, leaned over and tapped her shoulder. "Hey… you trying to bury your doll?"

The girl nodded. "Uh huh."

"We could use my hole, if you want."

The girl peeked over at Sammy's very impressive hole and smiled. "Okay." She plopped her Barbie, all dressed in pink, in the hole up to her neck, and Sam and the girl started to cover her with dirt.

"Did she die?" Sam asked of the doll.

The girl looked up at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Your dolly. Did she die and that's why we're burying her?"

"No… I don't like dolls, but Mommy thinks I do. I tried to get my doggy Honey to eat her so she'd go away, but stupid dog only drooled on her."

Sam giggled. "We can bury her real deep and then your mom won't ever find her."

The girl grinned and shoved more dirt in Sam's hole. She stopped and looked around a moment, then pointed. "That's my mom over there."

Sam looked at the woman the girl pointed at and asked, "Is she nice?"

"Yep, and she loves me lots, even if she gives me stupid dolls."

Sam scooped a handful of sand and covered the Barbie's head.

"Where's your mom?"

Sam frowned. "I don't have one."

"Oh… is your dad here?"

Sam, on reflex, looked in Dean's direction. He saw him talking to a woman who'd sat down on the bench beside him.

Dean wasn't his dad, but Sam didn't want the girl to think he was an ophan.

"He's over there," Sam pointed at Dean, hoping the girl wouldn't know it was a little lie.

The girl looked once then said, "My dad lets me do all kinds of stuff my mom won't. Like _two_ scoops of ice cream after dinner. Mommy only lets me have one scoop."

Sam smiled. "My dad lets me eat candy for breakfast."

The girl's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Yup."

"Wow!"

Sam felt really proud to be Dean's, until he remembered he wasn't. He bent his head and worked really hard on covering all of the Barbie doll.

"Jenny?" A woman was walking toward the sandbox. The girl beside Sam looked up. "Time to go home, honey."

"But I'm playing with my friend!"

Sam smiled. He was never someone's friend before… besides his brother's. Their dad didn't let them be around other kids much and it took time to make friends.

"That's lovely, sweetie, but remember your grandma's coming over later, and you want to be clean for her, don't you?"

"Gramma!" Jenny cried happily and jumped up. The mother wiped as much of the sand off Jenny as possible, then took her hand and led her away.

Jenny turned and waved to Sam. "Bye!"

Sam waved back then looked toward Dean again. He was still talking to that lady.

Sam picked a new spot in the box and started digging.

He looked up when he heard a little yip. He looked around and saw the bushes next to the playground rustle. A puppy poked its head out of the bushes and barked. It had a leash on it so it couldn't come out of the bushes far, but it wagged its tail and looked around for someone to play with.

Sam stood up and faced the puppy. It saw him and barked, wiggling.

Sam left the sandbox and moved closer to the puppy.

He stopped cold when he saw the man at the end of the leash. He was scruffy looking and dirty, but he smiled bright when he saw Sam. "Hi, sonny… don't mind Bunny there, she won't bite. Want to pet her?"

Sam nodded, hesitated, then moved closer and knelt down. Bunny squirmed at the end of her leash until the man gave her more and she stretched toward Sam. When he held out his hand, she licked it.

Sam smiled and petted her head.

"Bunny's a husky… you know what that is, sonny?"

Sam shook his head and giggled when Bunny got close enough to lick his face.

"Means when she gets big and strong she'll look like a wolf. Do you like her?"

Sammy scooted closer and grabbed the wiggly puppy in a hug. "Uh huh."

The man grinned real wide. "She has brothers and sisters, you know. I know they'd love to play with you. I have a whole box of them in the back of my car. Come with me and I'll let you play with all of them all you want."

Sam ruffled Bunny's fur but tensed at what the man said. He sure liked puppies, but going with the man didn't seem like a good idea.

"You do like puppies, don't you?"

"Uh huh…"

The man left the bushes to get close to Sam. "Well… just come with me, for just a few minutes. We won't be gone long, so you won't get in trouble."

Sam's eyes widened and he got up. He started to take a step back but the man with the puppy grabbed his arm and wouldn't let him leave.

Sam braced his feet against the man. "I… I gotta go."

"But Bunny would be really sad if you did that, sonny," the man said and moved a step back. The man was too strong for Sam and he got dragged closer to the bushes. Bunny whined. Sam thought Bunny was a much better dog than this man was a person.

Sam struggled. "Let me go!"

"Shhhh… keep quiet."

Sam started to panic. He tried to twist and look for Dean, but puppy man wouldn't let him. The man dropped the leash and put his other hand over Sam's mouth so he couldn't scream

"You do like puppies, don't you, sonny? I have a lot of puppies for you to play with."

Sam tried to jerk free but he couldn't. Bunny was yipping.

Sam was about to cry he was so scared.

"_**Hey**_!"

Puppy man looked up past Sam's shoulder and suddenly he just fell down. Like a brick. Sam was suddenly free and dropped to the ground, shaking. Sam saw Dean step around him, go to puppy man, and lift him up by the shirt. Then he hit him again. And again. Dean was _really_ angry, and he was hurting puppy man _really_ bad.

Sam was glad.

Then things got really confusing. Two cop men showed up… Sam didn't know where they came from. They were trying to pull Dean off puppy man… puppy man wasn't moving anymore, but Dean was still hitting and kicking him. Dean fought the cop men, too. He didn't want to stop hurting puppy man. Sam thought the cop men should just let Dean keep going.

Bunny was cowering by the bushes, big blues eyes just as scared as Sam's.

Sam, crying, crawled over to her and dragged her into his lap. He watched, bawling, as the two cop men finally got Dean away from puppy man. One was yelling at Dean, telling him to stop, but Dean was yelling, too. Sam had never seen someone so mad before.

One of the cop men came over to Sam. Sam clutched Bunny to him and flinched back, scared.

"Hey… are you all right?" the cop man asked.

Sam buried his face in Bunny's fur and wanted the cop man to just go away and leave him alone.

"Are you hurt?" the cop man asked and tried to pry Sam's arms away from Bunny.

Sam wailed and shook his head, holding on to Bunny for dear life.

When the cop man stopped talking, Sam peeked open an eye and watched. The other cop man was still arguing with Dean. The second cop man was checking puppy man, but puppy man was not moving.

The cop man with Dean turned to his friend. "Did he kill him?"

The second cop man said, "Damn… almost."

"Get out of my way and I'll finish the job," Dean said angrily.

The first cop man looked toward Sam. Sam held Bunny tighter… so tight the puppy was whining.

"Are you his father?"

Dean didn't answer right away. Sam thought if Dean said no they would make him go away. Before that could happen, Sam called to Dean, "Dad?"

Dean blinked, looked at the first cop man, then shoved past him and walked toward Sam. The first cop man let him.

Dean bent down and scooped Sam up, puppy and all, and hugged him tight. Bunny squirmed and struggled but Dean was strong and they were both just going to have to be hugged. Sam didn't mind.

"Sammy… are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

Sam tucked his head under Dean's chin, Bunny warm and squirmy against his chest. He felt safe there and never wanted to leave.

"Sam… come on, I need you to answer me. Are you hurt?"

Sam shook his head. "M' okay."

"Sir?"

Dean turned to the cop man who'd talked to him, still holding Sam tight.

"Is your son all right?"

Dean pulled Sam away from his shoulder to look at his face.

"I think he's okay, just shaken up. What the hell is going on? Who is that bastard who tried to grab my kid?"

"Charles Grumly. We've been tracking him across two counties and couldn't get a lead on him. He's done this in three other towns, snatched kids out of playgrounds using puppies to lure the kids to his vehicle."

Sam hugged Bunny closer.

"Our local department has had officers volunteering their off-time to take shifts watching the area playgrounds to try and stop this guy. Trust me, he's going to be spending the rest of his life behind bars. I'm just glad your son is okay."

Dean looked Sam over, running a hand over his face, his back, his shoulders, his arms, but Sam wasn't hurt. He just wanted to go back to the 'Pala or a motel and get away from puppy man.

Dean tugged Sam close to his chest again and said, "Asshole deserves to be hanged."

The cop man said, "Personally, I agree with you. But the next best thing is going to be life in prison. Do you need us to have a paramedic come out and look your boy over?"

"No," Dean rubbed Sam's back. It felt really good when he did that. "I just want to take him home."

"I understand… come by the station tomorrow to make a statement."

"Yeah, sure," Dean said, and Sam knew that would never happen.

Sam just wanted to leave.

"Dad?" he whimpered.

Dean paused. "Yeah, Sammy?"

"Can we go now?"

"Absolutely." Dean started walking away, Sam in his arms, and Sam holding Bunny.

They got to the car and Dean put Sam down in the passenger's seat. Dean knelt in the open car door and looked closely at Sam. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sam, holding Bunny close to his chest, nodded. "Yeah… he hurt my arm some, but that's all. That's when you came."

Dean's eyes were scary, but they made Sam feel safe. They were dark and mad like that because Dean wanted to do bad things to the person who'd hurt Sam.

"God, I am _so_ sorry, Sam. I was watching you, and I only looked away for a _second_…"

Sam nuzzled Bunny's coat. "You hurt that bad man."

"You bet your ass I did."

"Good."

Dean kind of smiled, but it looked funny. Not very happy. Then he ruffled Sam's hair and stood up.

Dean closed the passenger door, walked around the car, got in behind the wheel, and drove away from the playground. Sam was happy to see it gone as he clung to Bunny for all his little arms were worth.

To Be Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

Dean's heart was still pounding as he pulled into the first motel he could find in the next town over. Sam was quiet beside him, holding on to the black and white husky puppy like it was all that was holding him together. The stuffed unicorn lay abandoned on the floorboard under Sam's feet.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said once he'd stopped the car in the practically empty parking lot, "let's get us a room."

Dean and Sam (who was carrying the puppy like it couldn't walk on its own) entered the lobby of the cheap motel and found a young woman at the counter with a face more painted than a clown's. If Sam weren't so traumatized from the playground, she might have scared him.

When she set her eyes on Dean, they gleamed. Dean knew the look.

"Hi," she said sweetly. "What can I do for you, handsome?"

Dean offered a smirk on reflex. "One room."

The woman glanced down at Sam holding the puppy. Her sugary-sweet smile faded. "I'm sorry… we don't allow pets."

Sam's eyes began to water and he held the puppy tighter.

Dean wanted to reach across the counter and shake the girl. Instead, he turned on his most charming smile. "Aw, come on… have a heart."

She was won by the smile before he'd even spoken, and Dean knew it.

"I could get in trouble for this, you know."

"I swear, we'll keep it quiet and check out first thing in the morning. No one will know."

The woman smiled coyly. "All right, I guess I can make an exception for you. That'll be thirty-five ninety-five."

Dean paid for the room, got the key, and led Sam back to the car.

Their room was at the end of the row, leaving Dean to give the ditz behind the counter more credit than he thought she deserved.

Dean grabbed their stuff out of the trunk and took Sam and the puppy inside the room. It wasn't until Sam was settled on one of the beds that he let go his hold on the puppy and let it wander around the bedspread.

The puppy immediately began sniffing around intently and Dean hurried to pick it up. "I'm going to take Fido here out for a piss… I'll be right back, Sammy. Okay? Don't let anyone in while I'm gone."

Sam nodded.

Dean took a few minutes while watching the puppy, apparently a girl puppy when she squatted to pee, to calm himself down. He was still furious about what had happened. Furious and terrified. He'd been keeping such a close watch on Sammy at the playground. He'd been like a hawk with the kid. A parent had joined him on the bench and they started talking about their kids. Dean cast frequent glances toward Sam at first, but he was fine, like he had been all afternoon, and Dean let himself have an adult conversation with a very attractive and friendly woman.

Then he looked up and Sam was almost out of sight, being dragged toward the bushes by a strange man.

Dean had never run so fast in his life. He didn't clearly remember the beating he'd given the guy. He only remembered how terrified he'd been at the thought that he'd almost lost Sammy.

When the puppy was finished taking care of business, Dean took her back into the room. Sam was still on the bed where Dean had left him.

Dean dropped the leash, forgot the dog, and went over to Sam. "Sam? Hey, look at me."

Sam looked up obediently, and Dean smiled for his sake. "You sure you're all right?"

"He was a bad man," Sam said softly.

'I've known demons less despicable,' Dean thought hotly. "Yeah, he was. Listen, let's get you in the bathtub, huh? You're covered in sand." And Dean couldn't stand the thought of the man's touch still lingering on Sam's clothes or skin.

Sam followed Dean into the bathroom, undressed with Dean's help, and climbed into the tub when Dean had it full. Dean looked over every inch of Sam's body for any sign of injury. He breathed a sigh of relief when close inspection proved that Sam really was okay.

The boy was quiet while Dean took the soap and cleaned him head to toe, then took some of the hotel shampoo and washed his hair, too.

Dean paused on a second pass with the soapy washcloth when he noticed Sam had his eyes closed.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. I love you."

Dean's mouth popped open. It had come out so casually, so naturally, as if he hadn't been a six-foot-four adult a matter of days ago. As if he hadn't spent days as a four-year-old resigning himself to Dean when he really wanted someone else (or so Sam thought).

Dean swallowed thickly. "I love you too, Sammy."

When Sam was finished with his bath and Dean carried him, wrapped in a towel, back to the bedroom, they found the puppy with a corner of the comforter in her teeth shaking her head vigorously back and forth and growling in a ridiculously high pitch.

Sam giggled.

Dean knew in that second they were keeping the puppy.

Dean dressed Sam in his Superman pajamas and brushed his hair. Sam watched Dean's face with an attentiveness that almost made Dean uneasy. It was like Sam was looking at him for the first time and trying to figure him out.

"Sam… I'm real proud of you, you know."

Sam blinked.

"I could tell you were fighting that guy. You weren't going to let him take you anywhere without a fight. I'm _real_ proud of you for that."

Sam gave a wan smile.

"And, uh… when the cop asked if I was your dad…" Dean sat down on the bed next to Sam. "You did the right thing when you told him that I was. You see, Sammy… when people see you and me, they're going to think certain things. And sometimes, it's good to let people think what they want to, even if it's not the truth because that way they won't ask questions." Sam was giving him a look like he was an idiot, and Dean laughed because it was the first hint of his Sam he'd seen since this mess began. "What I'm trying to say is, when we're around other people, in stores or restaurants and stuff, I want us to play pretend that I'm your dad. Just like you did today with the police." Dean braced for a tantrum to that. Dean knew, in Sam's position, he would have been livid, even at four. He would have railed at some 'stranger' trying to even fake being his father. Dean wasn't wild about the idea, but when the cop had asked Dean if he was Sam's father, he had a sudden panic that if he said 'no' they would take Sam from him. Not necessarily those cops at that moment, but somewhere else, someone else, at another time. Lying seemed the easiest, safest way to not rouse any suspicion with well-meaning meddlers who might get it in their head to call Child Protective Services if they thought too long and hard on a grown man traipsing around with a four-year-old boy that wasn't his.

Sam didn't have a fit. He looked pensive then nodded. "Okay."

Dean had not expected it to be so easy.

Sam smiled thinly at Dean's expression. "My brother says sometimes you have to lie to people."

"That's true. You think you're up for it, kiddo?"

Sam slid closer to Dean until he was snuggling against his side. "Sure, Dad."

Dean stiffened, his chest aching oddly and making him wish desperately that he had his Sam back. "Good… good boy, Sammy." He reached down and ruffled Sam's hair.

The puppy came trotting around the bed to look up at the Winchesters, her tail wagging proudly. She seemed to have completely forgotten the ordeal that brought her here.

Sam smiled down at her.

Dean smirked. "So, who's this you brought back from the playground?"

"He said…" Sam halted, and Dean understood why. "Her name's Bunny."

"_Bunny_? That's a silly name for a dog. We'll have to change that."

Sam looked up eagerly at him. "We can keep her?"

Dean had no idea how they were going to manage a puppy in the car, but Dean remembered seeing Sam cowering in the bushes with the puppy clutched to him like a safety blanket after he was almost kidnapped by a child molester, and knew he couldn't take the animal to the pound.

"Only if we come up with a better name for her," Dean said seriously, "because I will not have a dog called Rabbit."

Sam giggled. "Bunny."

"So that's your job, Sammy. Come up with a good name for Hare there," Dean gestured toward the puppy, who barked and spun in a circle in hopes of enticing someone to play with her.

Sam laughed again, climbed down off the bed to play with the puppy, and Dean sighed. Naming the dog would be a great distraction for Sam. Hopefully, the memory of getting a dog would become Sam's most vivid memory of this day.

To Be Continued…


	8. Chapter 8

Bobby Singer hadn't known just what to expect when Dean finally arrived with his newly redefined 'little' brother, so it was with an anxiously held breath that he stood on his porch as he watched the familiar black Impala come up his driveway.

Dean was the first one out of the car, and he looked up at Bobby like it was damn good to see him and by god he better have some answers for Dean.

The passenger door was shoved open with effort, but instead of Sam a husky puppy jumped out of the car and immediately began darting around, exploring.

Then Sam jumped out of the car. Adorable, tiny, childish Sam Winchester, his sandy blonde hair still the same unruly mop Bobby knew and the only thing immediately familiar about the kid. Bobby hadn't known the Winchester boys when they were this young. In truth, it was hard to imagine either of them ever being that small and vulnerable.

"Jovi!" Sam called to the dog. The husky looked up at Sam, barked, then continued to romp around the derelict cars on Bobby's lawn.

"She's fine, Sammy," Dean said as he rounded the front of the car. "Come here."

Sam ran to Dean and leapt at him. Dean bent down and scooped Sam up midair in a movement that looked routine to them. He hitched Sammy up on his hip and carried him toward the porch.

Sam laid eyes on Bobby and the old hunter could see the kid suddenly turn wary. His little arms went around Dean's neck and he dipped his chin, barely looking up through his bangs at Bobby.

Dean nodded a greeting. "Hey, Bobby."

"Hey, Dean. Hi, Sam."

Sam tucked his face into Dean's neck.

Bobby smirked, finding bashful little Sam Winchester awful cute, but the older man's expression fell when he saw a very dark, angry look cloud Dean's face for a second at Sam's sudden retreat.

"Hey, Sammy…" Dean said in a measured tone, "come out here and meet a good friend of mine."

Reluctantly, Sam pulled his face away from Dean's neck and peeked at Bobby.

"This is Bobby."

"Hullo," Sam mumbled.

"Nice to see you, Sam. That's a nice dog you have there." Bobby glanced at Dean with a meaningful 'I'll be hearing _that_ story later'.

Talking about the puppy brought Sam out of his shell a little. "Her name's Jovi. It used to be Bunny, but Dad said that was lame."

Bobby was confused. Had John met up with them at some point?

"It _was_ lame," Dean insisted. "But Sam here came up with a really awesome name for her. And I, for one, think Jovi is really happy about that." Dean rubbed Sam's back absently. "You got some grub in there, Bobby? We're starving."

"Uh, yeah, sure, come on in."

Dean turned around and whistled. Jovi popped her head out of a pile of tires, yipped, and came bounding toward them. She managed the stairs with Herculean effort and raced into the house before them.

Bobby didn't have 'cleaning up for guests' in his vocabulary, so his home was just as riddled with stacks of papers, books, and car parts as ever. Seeing Dean weave through the junk with a kid on his hip, though, made Bobby think he probably should have cleaned up some at least in the interest of mildly 'child-proofing' the house.

Dean didn't seem to notice, but then he and Dean were motley birds of a feather.

Bobby waved at his kitchen in a general 'help yourself' gesture, then stood back to watch. He was curious as hell. He'd never heard of someone actually seeing a unicorn, much less being changed by one as Sam had been. He couldn't help the hunter/researcher in him from observing.

Bobby stood back and watched, dumbfounded, as Dean set about making Sam lunch. It ended up being a twilight zone-like moment in time watching Dean and Sam far more suited to the roles of father and son than brothers.

First of all, Sam was _calling_ Dean 'Dad', which was just too weird, and Dean was answering to it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sam was seated at the kitchen table in front of the one moderately clean spot, animatedly talking about an episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles he'd seen that morning on the television in the hotel, and Dean was nodding and adding in all the right noises like he was listening and interested while he fixed Sam a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, naturally cutting off the crust that was diabolical and the kryptonite of every child. Jovi was on her puppy elbows, butt in the air, working her way along the line of the bottom lip of the kitchen cabinets where the cabinets met the tile. No telling what food Bobby had dropped down there and no telling how far back the scraps of food went. The pup probably thought she'd won the lottery. When she ran into Dean's legs, Dean absently gave her a nudge and resumed his meal preparations.

Dean turned and put the sandwich, a helping of chips, and a coke (all given the meager stores in Bobby's cupboards and fridge) on the table in front of Sam. "Eat up, Sammy. I'm going to talk to Bobby for a minute."

"Kay, Dad."

Dean looked up at Bobby and ticked his head in a clear and unspoken 'in the other room' gesture.

The two men moved into the living room, still in sight of Sam but out of earshot.

Bobby had a million questions on his mind, but Dean was the first to ask one. "Have you heard from my dad?"

Why did it always seem to be the same question with Dean? Sometimes Bobby wished he'd shot John Winchester when he had the chance. The man could be a real burden to put up with and he didn't even have to try at it. The best thing about John was his boys. "No, I haven't."

Dean sagged visibly.

Not one for dancing, Bobby said, "Sam's been calling you 'Dad'."

"Yeah," Dean sighed and perched on the arm of an armchair. "I told him we should act like he was my son. Fewer questions that way."

Even though it made sense, it seemed, ridiculously enough, a bit like a betrayal of their actual father to Bobby. "But he remembers John, right?"

Dean frowned. "To be honest, I don't know if he remembers him or remembers the idea of him." Dean looked up at Bobby. "It seems like his memories are… fuzzed out. Generally, he remembers, but he doesn't remember any of the specifics. He knows who he is and that he has a brother and a father and he knows what me and Dad are like, but much beyond that…" Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bobby, _please_ tell me you've found something to reverse this."

Bobby sank down on his loveseat. "Dean… I'm sorry, kid. I've been researching my ass off, but I haven't found anything that can counteract unicorn magic."

Dean closed his eyes and let his chin sink toward his chest. "Ah, damnit."

Bobby felt sorry for Dean. The kid looked haggard, worn out and in desperate need of some good news, and Bobby wished he had a better answer.

"I've been calling everyone in the business I know," Bobby continued. "After I'm told unicorns are extinct, I'm told there's nothing more powerful than their magic and certainly not anything that's going to outdo it."

Dean looked toward the kitchen, in the direction of Sam, but in his eyes he looked like he was a million miles away.

"I won't give up looking for something, but you're going to have to start getting used to the idea that Sam's going to relive his life."

Dean nodded vacantly, still distracted and distance.

"So… what now?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know… could we crash here a few days? Give me a little time to think?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, Bobby."

Dean lapsed into another silence that was so out of character for smart-mouth Dean that Bobby felt uncomfortable and worried.

"So, how's Sam doing?" Dean turned his eyes to Bobby. "He kind of looked like he was scared of me for a minute there on the porch. Should I take that as a hint to shave?" Bobby teased, hoping to get a smile out of Dean.

Instead, Dean's face went dark and dangerous again.

"What's wrong?"

For a minute, Dean didn't answer. He clearly didn't want to. "A couple of days ago," he said with obvious effort, "some sick bastard tried to kidnap Sam."

Bobby gaped. "A demon?"

Dean snorted. "No. A human. A twisted, sadistic, fucking insane human." Dean scowled. "That's where Jovi came from. The pervert tried to lure Sam off with the puppy."

"Son of a bitch," Bobby hissed.

"Tell me about it… you know, there are a fair number of people out there that hunters would do the world a favor if they took those bastards out instead of ghosts."

"Did you kill the man, Dean?" Bobby suddenly asked in concern. He wouldn't shed a tear for the sick bastard, but murder came with some nasty criminal charges he didn't want tangling Dean up.

"No… but not for lack of trying. I would have killed him, but there were some cops staking out the playground. They pulled me off him before I could waste him."

"Well, much as I'd love to see that guy six feet under, I'm glad they did."

"Yeah… would have been really satisfying to pound him to death, though."

It was a very dark thing to say, and Bobby knew Dean absolutely meant it.

"Anyway," Dean said, "since then, Sam's been… I don't know. Before, he was almost too guarded to really get close to me. He wanted his brother, the way he remembered me when I was a kid. After that asshole… it's like Sam just stopped doubting everything about me. He's gotten really attached. It's almost like when we were both kids and I couldn't get one moment's peace without my little brother tagging along after me." Dean smiled faintly at the memory.

They heard Jovi bark and Sam laughed.

"At least he seems happy," Bobby noted.

"Yeah."

Dean frowned as a thought obviously occurred to him.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know," Dean mused, "it's just that… when we were growing up, there were so many things we couldn't do or couldn't have because Dad couldn't make it work with the hunt. The hunt meant everything, and childish things weren't allowed to get in the way. I didn't think about it before, but I guess I've sort of been making up for that with Sam now."

"Like the dog," Bobby noted.

"Yeah… like the dog."

Bobby eyed Dean closely. "You think that maybe this was the unicorn's intent the whole time?"

Dean looked up, puzzled. "What?"

"I mean, Sam getting a chance to have the very things he was denied the first time around. Like having a dog. I don't know, maybe this is what she meant for him when she changed him."

"You're saying she shrank him just so he could have a dog?" Dean asked sarcastically.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Don't be thick with me, boy. I know you understand me perfectly."

Dean flinched and looked away. "I just want him back, Bobby. I don't really care what that freaking unicorn meant or intended. I want my brother back."

"You may have to learn to love Sam like he is."

"Hell, Bobby's it's not that I don't…" Dean stood and paced a few steps. "I just want things back to the way they were. When things made sense."

"And I'd love to help you, Dean, but I have dug down to the rind and found nothing that can do it."

Dean looked on the verge of meltdown.

"Look," Bobby stood. "You're staying with me at least a week. I won't have you here any shorter than that and there's no point arguing about it. So get comfortable, chill out, and give all this some serious thought. I know you try to shove that job off on Sam," Bobby smirked, "but you'll have to pull your own mental weight on this one."

Dean nodded mutely.

Bobby stood and put a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. It felt tense under his touch.

"Dad?"

Dean turned away from Bobby's touch as Sam came wandering into the living room, Jovi bounding left and right behind him. "What is it, Sammy?"

"Jovi wants to go outside and 'slpore… can we?"

"Sure, kiddo," Dean moved toward Sam and held out his hand. Sam took it readily and Bobby watched the three, man, boy, and puppy, head for the front door.

When they were gone, Bobby sat down on his chair and sighed.

When he was younger, he'd always wished he'd had someone with him on the hunt, family to keep him company, but after knowing the Winchesters he'd never ask for that again.

Family made the job three times as complicated.

To Be Continued…


	9. Chapter 9

Bobby liked dogs well enough, but after Jovi left a few 'surprises' in his house (one of which Bobby stepped in), he declared the puppy would have to stay outside. Sam had looked at him with wide, teary eyes like Bobby had shot Jovi instead of banished her outdoors. In true Winchester fashion, Sam didn't launch into a drama-filled chick moment. He didn't say anything. He just looked disapprovingly at Bobby and hugged Jovi like she was the victim and he wanted to comfort her.

Feeling bad for earning the baby-Sam eyes of reproach, Bobby spent the majority of the next morning outside cobbling together a doghouse just short of the puppy Taj Mahal to get him back into Sam's good graces.

As Bobby stood back and admired his work, he had to admit it was a damn fine doghouse. Dean was going to love it, at any rate. Bobby didn't have a lot of wood lying around, but what he did have was car parts. Jovi's doghouse looked like it was a transformer, hot rod by night, doghouse by day. Bobby had welded together parts of hoods, doors, trunks, fenders, and an assortment of engine parts into a house for Jovi that not even wounded Sam Winchester could dislike. The inside walls were double-thick with upholstery and floorboard carpet to keep the inside warm, and as a finishing touch Bobby placed floorboard mats down inside. It was a puppy paradise, and it would mean no more piles of presents on Bobby's kitchen floor.

Just as Bobby was sitting back on an old engine block to bask in his achievement, his cell phone began to ring.

Suspecting it was Dean in the house asking where something or other was, Bobby picked it up without looking at the number and said, "Yeah."

"Bobby?"

Bobby sat upright but quick. "John?"

The broody silence was answer enough.

"Where the hell have you been? Did you even notice I called you three times?"

"Why do you think I'm calling you now? I was in the middle of something. What did you want?"

"Have you talked to Dean yet?"

There was yet another silence that made Bobby's teeth grind against each other. "No."

"Damnit… what is it with you?"

"You've talked to him?"

Bobby resisted the urge to just hang up. Let John have a taste of his own medicine. But good sense won out. "Your boys are here with me right now."

John paused a second. "Is Sam all right? Dean's message said Sam had turned into a _kid_… what the hell is going on?"

"Why don't you have it from your boy?"

"Because I'm asking _you_."

"You're a grade A dick, you know that, Winchester?"

"Singer… you and I have had our differences, but I won't have you questioning the way I deal with my sons. I'm their father, and I know them a hell of a lot better than you do. For your information, since I got Dean's message, every spare second I've had has been researching _what_ could do this to Sam and what, if anything, can undo it."

"Find anything?"

John's fire went out in an instant. "No… I'm guessing a unicorn did this?"

Bobby had to hand it to John, if nothing else the man knew his weird shit. "That's right."

"What in the hell were my boys doing messing with a unicorn? Leave it to them not only to find a creature that should no longer exist, but then to piss it off enough to screw up Sam's life like this."

Bobby brought up a hand and rubbed at his forehead. "It wasn't a _trickster_, John. The unicorn didn't do this as a sick joke. If you even cracked a legit book on unicorns, you know they're not malicious. It's _impossible_ for them to be. She did this to make Sam's life better."

"How does making it as though he had never even led his life accomplish that?"

Bobby snapped back, "Don't you think the question is 'how _doesn't_ it'?"

That struck John silent, and Bobby almost felt sorry for what he'd said. Almost.

When John spoke again, his tone was much milder. "I always did the best I could for my boys."

"I know you did," Bobby said, thinking to himself 'but that was pretty piss-poor and everyone who knows you knows it'.

"I know it wasn't always ideal or 'normal', but I would never think the life I gave my boys was so bad that it deserved to be erased."

Dean was living proof that the life of the hunt from a tender age didn't necessarily doom a person to unhappiness. Both John and Dean embraced the life of the road with a trunk-full of weapons to fight the darkness.

"Maybe Sam just needed something more than you and Dean ever did," Bobby offered. "He must have felt something big missing in his life if he took off for college against your wishes like he did."

For a moment, John was silent.

"How… what about Dean? How's he doing?"

Bobby rubbed at his forehead. "Misses his brother like hell. He's pretty wired, honestly. Poor kid's lost his best friend in the world and you can tell it when you look at him."

"You've been researching this too, I take it?"

"Course I have."

There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. "We aren't going to get our old Sam back, are we?"

Bobby closed his eyes and sagged. "No. I've been trying to talk up the 'never give up searching' line with Dean, but I know we're looking for a fix that doesn't exist. There's not one bit of information on unicorn magic that even hints at a loophole or out to it. That shit is iron-clad."

For a long moment, neither man said anything. Then, with a thick voice, John asked, "You believe in second chances, Bobby?"

Bobby shook his head at the irony. "I've got a four-year-old Sam Winchester in my house. I'd say I'd be a damn fool to say I don't."

John sighed. "I could have done better by Sam… I made mistakes, I realize that now. I always tried to treat him like Dean, to _make_ him like Dean, but he's _not_ like him. Never was. Dean made sense to me, I understood him. _Sam_… he needed Mary the most."

When he wasn't mad at John, Bobby could feel incredibly sorry for him. After all, John Winchester wasn't hatched from an egg an intransigent son of a bitch. Events in his life made him that way. "You could be here putting your money where your mouth is instead of spilling your regrets to me. I'm not the one you should be confessing your shortcomings to, because I'm not the one who needs to hear it. You should be here. They're your boys, for pete's sake."

"I had to find _something_ first… I couldn't come to Dean empty-handed. He always expects me to have the answer to everything, to know how to fix everything. Soon as I showed up, he'd ask me to _fix_ Sam. To have to see that look on his face when I tell him I _can't_…"

"Don't be so afraid of disappointing your son that you avoid them both. Dean will just have to accept that you're not superhuman this time."

John didn't answer right away, leaving Bobby to silently implore John to just to the right thing for the boys. To hell with whether it was the right thing for John or the good of the all-mighty hunt.

"I can be there in a day or so."

Bobby almost smiled. "Good."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"… Thanks for looking after them."

"Don't get sappy on me."

John chuckled then hung up.

Bobby dropped his phone into his pocket, stood, and turned toward his house. He rounded the side and mounted the stairs to the back porch, where Jovi was solemnly tethered to an engine block sans cylinders. She looked up at Bobby with cold regard in her blue eyes, like she knew Bobby was the reason she wasn't inside with her boy.

Bobby reached down and pet her momentarily anyway before going into the house.

He found Dean and Sam on the couch, asleep. Dean was stretched out on his back, legs akimbo, with the television remote loosely gripped in one hand overhanging the cushions. Sprawled face-down across Dean's chest was Sam. The two were dead to the world while a music video retro-hour was playing on MTV in the background, emitting a hissing and snowy Van Halen thanks to the crummy pair of rabbit ears sticking out the back of the set.

Bobby stood a moment and just looked at the Winchester boys. Sam was holding on to Dean even in sleep, his little arms spread wide to grasp as much of Dean as possible. One of Dean's arms was draped over the boy, undeniably possessive and protective.

It broke Bobby's heart to think that Sam never had this from John growing up. John slept when he crashed. He went down when the stress and exhaustion of a hunt dropped him. When he was up, he was a papa bear. Protective of his children, no question, but affectionate and caring toward them? John's idea of loving them was teaching them everything he knew about surviving a dark and dangerous world. It was important, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't everything, but it was everything John had had to give. That extra bit of attention and affection had been precisely what young Sam Winchester had needed and not gotten.

And then there was Dean, the poor kid stuck in the middle between an obsessive father and needy baby brother.

If the unicorn had really been looking to give someone a rightful chance to live their life over, she might have done the same to Dean, too.

Bobby had gone inside to tell Dean that John was on his way, but on seeing the boys napping on the couch Bobby left the way he'd come instead. He'd let them sleep. In the meantime, Bobby would introduce Jovi to her new house, hoping that any wariness she might have toward it would be gone by the time Sam came to pass judgment on the new home for his puppy.

To Be Continued…


	10. Chapter 10

Dean figured he'd gotten more sleep in the last two days than he usually got in a week. While it didn't fix any of his problems, he found being rested did make them seem less insurmountable.

He'd moved from desperate to contemplative, a workload that he usually pawned off on his brainiac little brother.

He was sitting on the hood of his baby, watching his other baby play with his puppy. The Impala beneath him, in top shape and fine condition, Sammy running around happily, laughing and giggling… it wasn't the life Dean knew, but maybe it wasn't all bad, either.

He missed Sam. Missed him like hell. So much of his world he gauged by the way it played off Sam. Dean lived by life's reflection off his younger brother, the life he'd been charged with keeping safe when Dean himself was only four years old. But the longer Dean was with Sammy, the boy, the more he realized that if they found a way to reverse this, he'd miss the kid, too.

In true Winchester fashion, it had turned into a real shitty, damned if you do, damned if you don't, scenario.

Dean watched Sam chase Jovi around the sweet doghouse Bobby had made her. Sam was happy. He'd been confused and leery for a long time when he first changed, but Dean could see none of that trepidation in him anymore. Sam had accepted his fate. He embraced it.

Maybe Dean had to learn to do the same. According to Bobby, this wasn't going to be undone. Bobby Singer knew the supernatural inside and out (sometimes, Dean suspected, even more than his dad did), and if Bobby was convinced this thing with Sam was permanent, it was time Dean face that possibility realistically.

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by the ring of his cell phone. He fished it out of his pocket and brought it to his ear. He'd given up hoping it would be his dad.

"Yeah?"

"Is this Dean Winchester?" a woman asked shakily.

"Yeah… who's this?"

"My… my name's Katrina. Katrina Walters. I… I need help."

Dean sat up straighter. "What is it?"

"It's… it's my… my sister. She's… I know it sounds _crazy_, but she's not my sister."

"How do you mean, exactly?"

"She's… she's someone completely different. She just started acting like a totally different person a week ago. I think…"

Dean knew the drill. It was the loved one of someone possessed who couldn't bring themselves to actually say it. Like that made it less hideous somehow.

"I know someone who knows someone who had a phone number for… for someone who handled things like this," Katrina said in a thin, nearly broken voice. "When I called the number, a recording of a man gave me your number. The man said you could help."

His father's message. Dean had heard it himself before, John Winchester offering his son's services to any desperate person who reached his number.

"Can you help me?" Katrina asked in a frightened voice.

Dean was already off the hood, moving on reflex, mind racing. Wondering where the job was, what kind of possession they were dealing with, what kind of tools might be needed to do the exorcism, what he might need to find to finish the job that he didn't already have in the trunk of his car…

Then Dean's eyes cut to Sam scuffling happily in the dirt with the ball of black and white fur, and he stopped. His heart was still pounding, rushing with the adrenaline of the hunt. His body was impelled to _go_, to move, to pick up the scent and get down to business. He was a bloodhound with a scent and the leash had just come off.

Sam untangled himself from Jovi, grinning ear to ear, and looked toward Dean. He waved excitedly. "Did you see, Dad? Did you see me? I used that hold you taught me!" Jovi was looking at Sam, almost wounded she'd been bested by her small boy.

Sam was beaming proudly at Dean.

Dean turned his back to Sam and took a deep breath.

"Hello?" Katrina asked at his silence.

Dean swallowed. "I'm sorry… I can't help you."

"But… _but the message_… he said you could…"

Dean gritted his teeth. "I know. I can't. I'm sorry." Dean fought to control his breathing. "Let me give you some numbers of some friends of mine. If they can't help you, they'll find someone who can."

Katrina was crying on the line.

Dean clenched the phone in his hand. "Katrina… you'll get help, I promise. I just… _I_ can't."

Katrina took down the numbers Dean gave her. Bobby's. Caleb's. Pastor Jim's. Between the three hunters, Katrina would find someone who could deal with her possessed sister.

When Dean hung up the phone on the weeping woman he sank to the ground. He didn't know he was going to fold until he was sitting, his shoulders pressed against the comforting body of his car. Its side paneling was reassuring and solid as he let it take his weight.

He knew he'd done the right thing by Sam, the choice their father never made when they were kids, but Dean felt like a coward for it. Like a weakling.

Like a _civilian_.

"Dad?"

Dean looked up and found Sam standing in front of him, clearly worried to find Dean on the ground.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean croaked.

Sam fidgeted and edged closer. "Are you hurt?"

Dean smiled and lied for Sam's benefit. "No, I'm okay."

Sam looked doubtful of that, and Dean couldn't blame him. With effort, he heaved himself off the Impala and stood up. Brushing off his clothes, he asked, "Where'd Jovi go?"

"She went in her house and fell asleep." Sam's eyes shifted to a spot beyond Dean's side and Dean turned to see Bobby coming toward them.

"Hey, sport," Bobby said to Sam when he was near them. "You like Jovi's house?"

Sam wanted to still be affronted at his puppy's banishment from the house, but he really couldn't. "Yeah, it's pretty good."

"You know the one thing that could make it better?" Bobby knelt in front of Sam and held out a magic marker to him. Sam took it and looked up at Bobby, curious.

"See, I'm thinking it would be even better if it had some pictures on the inside. You know, like how people hang pictures on their walls?"

Sam blinked. He _didn't_ know. Dean winced at that.

Bobby, realizing Sam's confusion, hurried to say, "I thought Jovi might really like some drawings to look at. You know, of the things she likes. Only thing is, I'm too huge to fit in there and do it. Think you could crawl in there and put some pictures on Jovi's walls?"

Sam nodded eagerly.

Bobby nodded toward the house. "Have at it, bucko."

Sam smiled and trotted over to the doghouse. When he reached it he got down on his hands and knees and crawled inside.

Bobby stood up beside Dean.

"He's going to be a complete mess, you realize that," Dean noted, imagining Sam would come out looking like he'd wrestled with the marker rather than used it on the inside walls of the doghouse.

"Your problem, Dean, you're the one who has to bathe him," Bobby answered smugly.

Dean snorted half-heartedly and looked away.

"You all right, boy?"

Dean sighed. "Not really." He didn't say anything more than that.

Bobby frowned. "Well… I don't want to kick you when you're down, but… I talked to your dad this morning."

Dean's head jerked around to look at Bobby.

Bobby looked warily at Dean.

Dean schooled his expression, made it so neutral it would do John proud. "What did he say?"

"From the message you left him, he figured out what did this to Sam."

"And?" Dean asked eagerly, "Did he find a way to reverse it?"

Bobby's heart broke for the kid, it really did. He hated to be the one to be the bearer of bad news. "No… I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean didn't look crushed or angry, he just looked resolute. Determined to remain impassive, to gather all the information before he reacted. It was Dean of the hunt more than Dean the son. Bobby had to wonder at the absence of Dean, John's ever-loyal and devoted son.

"He said some stuff…" Bobby said slowly, "about making mistakes with Sam when he was young the first time… talked about second chances."

Dean turned his eyes to the doghouse. His jaw set. His eyes narrowed. He shifted tensely and said in a terse voice without looking at Bobby, "He wants to take Sammy."

Bobby wasn't sure how Dean was taking the news. The kid had himself locked down tight. "Sounded like it to me. He didn't out and say so, you know your dad… but that was what I got out of it, yeah. Makes sense, I figure. I mean, he _is_ Sam's father."

Dean moved a few measured, controlled paces away from Bobby and stopped with his back turned. Bobby had to read Dean's body language in the lines of his back. The unnatural silence was deafening.

"He's on his way," Dean said. It wasn't a question.

"Should be here in a day or so," Bobby confirmed.

Dean nodded imperceptibly and turned to Bobby. Dean's eyes were unreadable. "Could you stick around and watch him for me? I need to take a walk."

"Sure… take as long as you need."

Dean nodded faintly, glanced at the doghouse once, then strode off into the salvage yard and its mountains of junk cars.

To Be Continued…


	11. Chapter 11

The sense of dread in the bottom of John Winchester's stomach intensified as he got closer to Bobby's salvage yard. He couldn't really pin down what it was that made him want to rather face down a werewolf pack than his sons right then. He thought maybe it would be easier to say what _didn't_ make him uneasy about the whole damn situation.

His baby boy had been violated. Disfigured. Changed against his will. Bobby could say what he damn well wanted about 'virtuous' unicorns and their 'noble intentions'; John only knew that one of his sons had suffered permanent damage because of a unicorn. It was no different than Sam losing an arm or leg. Hell, it was worse. He lost his _life_.

John thought of the too few precious good memories he had of him and his youngest son together, when they weren't fighting and he wasn't disappointing Sam somehow and Sam wasn't disappointing him in turn, and he was mad as hell that those few moments were gone. Stolen. Ripped away.

John's hands were knuckled white around the steering wheel of his truck. He'd tried to track down the unicorn that did this to Sam. He traced his sons' path back to the town where it happened, to the very hotel room they'd used. It had been no use. He scoured the woods and come up with nothing but three corpses around a long-extinguished fire that he could not have moved himself to be bothered by. There was no sign of the unicorn.

Not that John was sure what he'd do with it if he caught it. His only real plan was half-ass. Hogtie it, throw it in the bed of the truck, take it to Sam and _demand_ that it fix his boy.

Even that shitty-ass plan was pointless now. John was driving to meet his sons with nothing to offer them but his empty apologies. Sorry I wasn't good enough to find the answer to this for you boys. I know you were counting on me, but I just wasn't good enough for you.

But then, his sons ought to be used to disappointment. God knows Sam felt that way about his father often enough. John could never figure out just what his youngest son had wanted from him, but all Sam's life it had been some mysterious _something_ John couldn't give him. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard, but Sam couldn't tell him what it was he needed so badly from John, and John wasn't a damn mind-reader.

He knew 'normal' had been a big deal to Sam, but what exactly did Sam think was normal? San had never actually known a shred of it, the whole of his life (that Sam was able to remember) was the hunt, and John couldn't possibly bring Mary back and make the family whole again for Sam's contentment, so John felt like he spent twenty-one years trying to figure out what would give Sam a sense of 'normal'.

It was always more than everything John offered up to try and make his youngest happy. It was just never enough with Sam. Finally, John gave up. John had a demon to track down and kill. Mary deserved to be avenged, and John couldn't spend all his time trying to have that therapy moment of breakthrough with his constantly needy youngest boy.

John checked his truck clock then returned his eyes to the road. He frowned darkly.

When he gave up on pleasing Sam, which happened real damn early, he shoved Sam off on Dean. John knew he did. It was just easier on all of them. Sam turned to Dean, sought out Dean, clung to Dean as everything John never was to him anyway. Even before John lost his patience with Sam and gave in to the path of least resistance, Sam had been that way.

Dean always made sense to John. Dean understood John's quest. His search. Dean remembered Mary. He knew everything that had been stolen from their family in the fire. Sam didn't, and maybe being spared that horrific memory meant Sam was missing something that was essential to being a Winchester.

Dean was quiet, intense, obedient, trainable. He was the perfect partner for John, even at four when the only thing John had entrusted to the boy was his baby brother.

Dean had a hunter's instincts. A soldier's mindset. He listened and didn't question every single decision just for the sake of being difficult. Dean had been John's little shadow, filling in its shape and motion as he grew into it.

John had always been able to trust Dean. Sam was a maverick. A wild card. If they were a Marine unit, John would have had Sam thrown in the brig and busted out of the Corps in a week. Dean was the asset.

But his kids weren't dismissible like that. So he charged Dean, his backup and partner, with the burden of taking care of Sam. John saw no reason not to. It was what they all wanted. Sam worshiped Dean, John didn't want to fight about it anymore, and Dean was fiercely protective and possessive of Sammy.

That was Dean's one big weakness. Sam. He was a walking open wound when it came to his brother, and he always had been. John saw it early on when Dean would throw a fit when Sam had any kind of problem at school, a 'normal' kind of problem as far as John was concerned, but Dean would get wound up so tight about Sam being upset about something that Dean would be off his feed for a week.

His boys had been too dependent on each other, John knew that now, in hindsight. He'd ignored it then because it made his life easier. And it was hard to be on the road, on the hunt, with two young boys in tow.

For all their family issues, John really believed his boys had turned out all right. He never figured Sam out like he'd hoped he would when the kid grew up and out of his rebellious phase, but Dean was a damn fine hunter, and even Sam had his good characteristics. For all the grief Sam gave John, he knew Mary would have been proud of him, and that counted for a hell of a lot in John's eyes.

John had his own reasons for being pleased with his sons and the men they'd become. His sons were known in the profession, among other hunters, spoken of with admiration. The Winchester brothers. They'd learned enough from John to have earned that reputation. John took pride in that.

But now… what was there of that duo left? Sam was, for all intents and purposes, _gone_. He was reduced to a liability again, just when he'd finally become useful on a hunt. That made Dean weak. John didn't have to see his sons to know that much was true. When anything made Sam vulnerable, Dean was taken out at the metaphorical knees. His ferocity was less calculated and more the lashing out of an angry, scared animal.

Bobby was right about one thing… his boys needed him right now.

John spent a lot of time thinking about the situation, and when he moved past the anger and sadness of what had happened to Sam, John saw an opportunity in this. It was only an opportunity in the event he couldn't cure his son, but that was looking pretty damn unlikely.

He'd gone at Sam the wrong way when the boy was growing up. He'd come at him head-on, like a freight train. That had worked with Dean. His oldest faced the challenge and came out fire-beaten better for it, like iron in the hands of a blacksmith.

Sam had balked and fought, sometimes it seemed just for spite.

After years of watching Dean handle Sam, John thought he had the angle of attack figured out. Sam couldn't be thrust down a path and told to blindly obey. He had to be _nudged_. Sam had to be taken from the flanks. He had to think the destination was _his_ idea. John watched Dean coax and work his brother into all manner of concessions, and he did it by not laying down the words 'order' or 'command'.

Sam had to be reasoned with… he had to be told _why_ something was the right thing to do. Nothing made Sam balk more than 'because I said so'. Dean went on faith in his father's judgment. Sam needed an explanation.

And after Dean had calmly and patiently explained the 'why' to Sam enough times, Sam began to trust Dean's judgment and forwent the immediate need to know 'why'. He'd come to believe that Dean had a reason for whatever he told Sam to do, and without doubt he'd get those reasons out of his big brother later, but Sam gave to Dean the privilege John had demanded as a right from the start. Sam went on nothing more than Dean's word and his faith in his brother.

Dean made Sam a soldier in his own right by chipping away at stone to make a statue… John had tried hammering Sam into a weapon in a single blow.

When John accepted he was not going to find a way to undo the unicorn's curse, he spent hours ruminating on all the interaction between his boys he'd seen while they were growing up, dissecting the way Dean handled Sam, and he thought he could do it.

He could do things differently, do things _Dean's_ way, and Sam could come out a better soldier for it. The soldier John had tried so hard to make Sam.

He could make Sam more like Dean this time.

Maybe he'd find a way to make Sam love him with that new approach. Sam would throw himself off a cliff for Dean. No questions asked, no hesitation. It hurt John that he didn't have that same love from his own son. He hated that the only affection Sam seemed to have toward his father was the obligatory affection toward one's family members… regardless of whether or not honest love existed.

He never wanted to be estranged from Sam. Things just happened, one after another, then it was like John turned around and suddenly Sam was blowing up at him, yelling at him, and leaving for California with a grudge the size of Texas.

That was still one of the worst days in John's life. It hurt like hell watching Sam leave and knowing he'd been the reason.

He loved Sam more than he could ever tell him, because Sam would never listen.

That wouldn't happen this time. John would _work_ for Sam's love. He'd do things right this time. How often did a father get the chance to correct all the mistakes he'd made raising a child?

He _owed_ Mary that. He'd done a good job with Dean and dropped the ball with Sam.

He was going to make _damn_ sure he didn't drop it this time.

John's heart was in his throat when he spotted Bobby's yard looming in the distance. He was steeling himself when he turned into the long driveway and saw the Impala parked in front of the run-down house.

John pulled up to the yard and abruptly hit the brakes.

Sam was outside. John hadn't seen that face, that child, for so many years, but he knew him in a second. Sam was playing tug-o-war with a black and white puppy in the yard, a shop rag taut between them.

John gaped dumbly. Seeing the boy took John back, what seemed like ages. He watched Sam, just as he remembered the boy at four, and almost expected eight-year-old Dean to come around the corner and yell at Sam to come inside for dinner.

It made John feel unspeakably older to see Sam a child again.

He put his truck in park and turned off the engine. At the cut-off sound, the puppy dropped the rag and whirled to face the truck. Sam stopped and followed the dog's gaze.

John couldn't move for a second, frozen. Sam's face was turned to him, his eyes locked on his through the windshield. John swallowed, numbly opened his door, and got out of the truck.

When he rounded the front of his truck and moved a few steps toward Sam, the boy edged backward.

John stopped. "Sam…"

The boy puzzled at him, hands limp at his sides. The puppy, troubled, inched over to Sam's side.

John's lungs weren't giving him the air he needed. God, his boy was beautiful. How had he grown so used to it when Sam was a baby the first time that he _stopped_ noticing it? He was standing there, the very definition of potential. Hope. All the wrongs John hoped he could make right this time.

John wouldn't waste it. Not this time.

"Sam?"

The boy tipped his chin closer to his chest, peering up warily at John through sandy hair. "Who are you?"

John knelt down slowly. "I'm John… I'm your dad, Sam."

He didn't know what he expected. Sam flying at him with a joyous exclamation of 'Dad!', maybe, just like the days before Sam lost all faith in his father.

Instead, Sam didn't react at all. He stared long and hard at John, and there seemed to be room for such a possibility (that maybe this man _was_ his father) in Sam's bright eyes, but he didn't come closer.

John got the feeling this stalemate could last all afternoon. Sam had that kind of fortitude. He cleared his throat. "Where's Dean?"

"I don't…" Sam stopped, his face screwed, then he said, "he's inside."

John stood. "Why don't we go get him? I need to talk to him for a minute."

Sam didn't move at first, then he dropped the rag in his hand and dashed toward the house. John followed, his long strides making up for Sam's pace.

Bobby's house was a disaster, as usual. Sam weaved through the junk with ease down the main hallway with John on his heels. The front door had been left open and the puppy darted inside, speeding ahead of Sam easily.

Dean was in the living room in front of Sam's laptop. He was looking at a webpage, his back to the hallway. The puppy ran up to him and tried to jump into his lap.

"Hey," Dean ruffled the dog's head and asked, "what are you doing in here?"

Sam wordlessly came up on Dean's side.

"Sammy, you know Jovi's supposed to stay outside." He looked up and saw the disconcerted look on Sam's face. "What is it?"

Sam grabbed for Dean's shirt sleeve and merely looked at John.

Dean turned in his chair, saw his father, and froze.

Dean usually moved to greet John when they reunited after separate hunts. John could always count on feeling welcome and _wanted_ with his older son. But this time Dean just sat there, a very guarded and careful look on his face.

"Dad," he finally said.

"Hello, son. It's good to see you again."

Slowly, Dean moved Sam a step away with a gentle hand, stood, and walked across the living room to stand before John. It was a tense moment before either moved, and it was John who moved first. He grabbed his son in a hug. Dean returned it readily, the first hint of normal John had found since this fiasco started with Dean's voice message.

When they broke apart both men turned to look at Sam. The boy looked baffled and unsettled. He was absently petting Jovi, who was gnawing on the chair leg.

"Jovi," Dean snapped, and Jovi stopped guiltily.

John couldn't stop staring at the boy. It was Sam, no doubt about it. He would know that sweet face anywhere.

"Sam," Dean said in a calm, gentle voice, and Sam looked to his brother eagerly.

"Why don't you take Jovi back outside before Bobby catches her in here?"

Sam nodded and went back toward the front door, cautiously edging around the two men. He called to Jovi and she slunk after him, belly low to the ground, as though she sensed the tension in the room, too.

John watched Sam go. When the front door closed after the boy and the puppy, John turned to Dean. "Damn, Dean… I know you said he'd turned into a _kid_, but I didn't really… I wasn't prepared for _that_."

Dean sighed, and a lot of his strength seemed to go with the air in his lungs. "I know… it's wild."

John took a good look at his oldest son. Dean looked worn out. He looked like he'd been thinking hard and long. There was a pinch to Dean's lips and a particular furrow to his brow when Dean was flexing his mind instead of his muscles.

"You look tired, son," John noted.

Without a word, Dean went into the kitchen and came back with two beers.

Together, father and son wandered into the living room and plopped down on the couch side by side. They took a few drinks before John had to say something. "Dean…"

"Did you see Bobby outside?"

That was an odd first question. "No."

Dean stood. "He was supposed to be watching Sam while I was inside. I'm sure he's around the yard somewhere, but…" Without another word, Dean moved toward the front door. John had no recourse but to stand and follow his son outside.

Dean went to the railing of the porch and stood a long moment in silence with his back to John, holding his beer absently and watching Sam. Sam and the puppy were digging a hole together.

John stepped up beside Dean, puzzled by just how quiet Dean was. Dean could be a closed type with strangers, like a rescue dog who'd only grown to trust the new family that took him in after enough treats and kind words, but not with John. Dean opened up to his father.

He didn't really know what to do with a speechless, brooding Dean.

"Jovi, huh?" he asked to break the tense silence.

Dean nodded. "Sam named her."

"As in Bon Jovi, I presume."

"Yeah."

John watched the boy and puppy a moment. "I'm surprised you caved and let him get a dog."

Dean shrugged.

John shook his head. "You always were horrible at telling Sam no when he asked for something."

Dean cast John a look that honestly took the older hunter aback. It was sharp and accusing and gone in a second, so fast John wondered if he'd seen it at all.

For a moment, that awful, awkward silence was back.

Next time, Dean was the first to speak. "Bobby said you couldn't find a way to put Sam back the way he was."

Right to the jugular. It was so very Dean. John rested his beer on the porch rail, suddenly unable to swallow. "No, I… I couldn't. I tried, but…" Admitting failure to Dean burned so hot and deep in his soul.

Dean nodded faintly. "Bobby didn't think there was much hope of finding a fix to this."

"Bobby's _usually_ right," John grudgingly admitted.

Dean sighed wearily and set his beer down on the railing with care. He dropped his chin to his chest and his shoulders sagged. It was a look of resignation that made John blink.

"What are you doing here, Dad?" Dean asked in a low, brittle voice.

John gaped. All acts aside, he knew Dean wasn't stupid. "Are you really asking me that? Why do you think I'm here?"

Dean didn't move at first, then he slowly lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at John. There was steel in the back of his look, a firmness John knew well. He'd counted on that kind of metal time after time on hunts with his son. Why it would show up in his eyes _now_ John couldn't fathom.

John knew Dean was waiting for an answer. For all the times Dean followed him blindly, did as he was told, he earned the few answers he demanded. Most of the time.

"Look… I realize I made some mistakes with Sam," he said evenly. It was okay to say these things to Dean, because it had been Dean who cleaned up the mess from those 'mistakes' when Sam was growing up. John paused and collected himself. "If there's no way to turn Sam back to his proper age, then I'm going to make the most of it."

Dean stood to his full height and slowly, deliberately, turned to face John.

The steel was there again and John still didn't know why.

"I won't make the same mistakes with Sam this time," John vowed to his oldest. "I can do better with Sam. I will."

Dean just stared levelly. It was disconcerting. Why was he getting this from Dean? Usually, Dean was cracking jokes and just enjoying being with his father.

This Dean was somber and intense. "You just want to take Sam back into the life of hunting?"

John narrowed his eyes. He heard disapproval in that, and when he was pushed, John Winchester pushed back. "The thing that killed your mother is still out there," he growled hotly, "I know you haven't forgotten that."

"No sir."

"I know you agree with me, it has to _die_ for what it did." Mary pinned to the ceiling, burning, _bleeding_.

"Yes, sir."

At least his son was still on the same page as him. John felt his testiness ebb. "I know what you're thinking, son, but I'll be smarter about it this time. I think I understand what it was Sam needed from me the first time. I mean to do it right this time."

Dean didn't answer. He didn't move.

John didn't like the mask. "What is going on, Dean?"

Dean looked out into the yard at Sam. John followed his gaze, baffled.

"Back on the road, kid in the back, on the hunt… just like it was before? That's what you'll do?"

Essentially, yes, that was exactly what John meant to do. Dean's voice held veiled contempt for John's plan. "I don't like your tone," John warned.

Dean gave him a look that said 'I don't care' and it made John falter. Sam gave him an attitude, not Dean.

Dean turned away from John and planted the heels of his hands on the porch rail, locked his elbows to let the rail take the weight of his upper body, and leaned forward. He watched Sam a long moment.

Then Dean spoke.

"You're not taking Sam."

John couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. "_Excuse me_?"

Dean didn't move a muscle. He just said in a strong, unyielding voice, "I'm not letting you do that to him again."

John fumed. He never got this kind of insolence from Dean. From _Sam_, sure, but not his obedient and compliant oldest son. It rankled John. "In case you've forgotten, _I'm_ his father. I'm not here to ask your permission, _son_."

Dean stood and slowly faced John again. Now John knew the justification for the steel. It was steel again _him_. "I won't let you take him." There was no quaver in Dean's voice, no hesitation or uncertainty. It wasn't open to negotiation as far as Dean was concerned. He meant just what he said.

John knew this uncompromising, brick-wall Dean existed, but he'd never been on the business end of it before.

There was a lion in Dean that only woke when it was to stand between Sam and whatever Dean considered a threat to him. It was a force of nature, a beast unto itself, and John had seen Dean stand against the most deadly dangers without batting an eye because Sam was behind him, counting on Dean to keep him safe.

Now John saw that force erected against _him_, holding _him_ at bay from Sam.

"What makes you think you can stop me?" John asked darkly. He had a moment to wonder if this was really happening, if they were really _fighting_ over Sam.

For half a second, John saw Dean tense. Like he meant to attack. It shocked the hell out of John. But in the next second, it passed and Dean's furrowed brow of thought returned.

"If you mean what you said about doing right by Sam this time, you won't try to take him."

"Is this more of that tripe about the hunt being no way to grow up? Because I'll have you know, this moment aside, I'm damn proud of how you turned out."

Half a smirk, gone in a split second, tugged humorlessly at one corner of Dean's mouth. "Sam's not me, Dad. Have you ever wondered what Sam might have been if you hadn't tried to make him me?"

John closed his mouth. Not really. Not in the sense that Dean was asking. He'd always seen Dean as the pinnacle, the goal, the best case scenario for Sam to live up to. He'd only really considered the alternative to everything Dean was as a testament to his own failure as a father.

"Sam has so much potential," John said lowly. "I only want to see him reach that."

Dean eyed John closely. "So do I… but I don't think we're talking about the same thing."

"And what makes you think me giving him to you would end up any differently?" John asked curtly.

Dean didn't respond.

John pressed on, "You're a hunter, just like me. Back of the Impala or the passenger side of my truck, how much difference will it really make in the end to Sam?"

Dean turned to face the yard again, eyes locked on Sam. "I'm not hunting anymore."

John's jaw dropped. He waited for Dean to waiver, to question, to falter, to doubt. He didn't.

"You don't mean that," John whispered.

Dean looked over at John and the determination in his eyes told John he did. "You don't think so?"

"Dean… you're one of the best out there. People _need_ you. God knows I wish this wasn't the life for you, but it's what you do best."

"I'm better at one thing, Dad."

"What… cars?"

That humorless smirk tugged fleetingly at Dean's mouth again. "Taking care of Sam."

John was speechless. Speechless and struck dumb because he couldn't argue with that. And wasn't that the whole reason for this argument in the first place?

"Dad…" Dean began in a softer, more conciliatory voice, "I may be a good hunter, but you're better. I _need_ you to kill that thing that got Mom."

John lived for little else. Next to revenge and his boys, there _was_ nothing else to John Winchester.

Dean framed his fingers around his beer bottle with no intention of picking it up. "I won't let you take Sam from me," Dean said faintly but with just as much finality as before.

At the thought of Dean leaving with Sam, John was struck by the idea of losing them. For all the times he'd ditched his boys for their own good, right then he couldn't stand the idea of the three of them parting ways.

"Son, who said it has to be that way? We can all leave together. It will be like before, the three of us. We can be a family."

Dean was shaking his head from the moment John said 'leave together'. "No."

That was it. Just a soft-spoken, resolute 'no'.

"I can't let you take on the responsibility of being a parent to him, Dean. Sam's _my_ son. It's not fair to you."

Dean locked eyes with John, and for that moment Dean's eyes looked older than his years. "It's all I know."

That took all the fight out of John in a single blow. Damn… Dean was right. All Sam's life, Dean had been a father to him in everything but name. That had only been a hollow title John had held.

John leaned heavily against the porch rail. He could not have imagined coming here and just giving Sam away like an unwanted kitten, but he suddenly realized that was exactly what he would do. John remembered every time when Sam was a baby that John had tried, and failed, to comfort a crying Sammy. He remembered every time old-before-his-time Dean had come up to him and held out his arms, "give him to me, Dad." John remembered every time John passed Sam off to his brother.

It was happening again, and John was going to hand Sam over, just like every time before.

"Are you sure about this?" John asked faintly.

Dean nodded. He licked his lips, his eyes flickered, then he said, "When you came in, I was online looking at job openings in California."

John was numb by that point. "California?"

Dean shrugged. "When Sam had a choice where he wanted to go, he went to California."

John took that in quietly.

"There are some decent positions in a few auto shops, mechanics, repair, stuff like that. You know how no one these days knows how to fix their own car. Always a need for a mechanic."

"You'll be good at that."

"I'll have to look into the school system before I choose a place for us to live. Sam loves school; I want to make sure he's in a good one. I mean for him to stay in the same school system all the way through high school."

John didn't know what to say.

Dean turned again to face John. For a moment, they just studied one another.

When Dean finally spoke, he said, "Don't fight me on this, Dad. Because I will, if I have to… but I don't want to fight you. You had your chance with Sam. Now it's my turn."

John looked out into the yard. He watched Sam and Jovi getting unspeakably filthy together, caked in dirt, the boy laughing and the puppy's tail wagging.

John felt every one of his years and then some. He sighed, looked up at his oldest son, and said, "I'm not going to fight you, Dean. For what it's worth, I know you'll do a hell of a better job than I did." It was hard to admit, but it was the truth, and John knew it.

A child's sudden wailing made both John and Dean look instantly toward Sam.

Sam was sitting on the ground, crying, holding his hand and a finger streaked with blood. Jovi was licking at it, trying to help. The sun glinted off a buried nail in the hole Sam and Jovi had been digging.

"_Dad_!" Sam cried.

John and Dean both moved to answer.

But John stopped and let Dean pass him. Dean moved down the porch stairs, covered the ground between the house and the boy quickly, and gently pushed Jovi aside to kneel in front of Sam.

"Let me take a look," Dean said, and Sam held his bleeding finger out to Dean.

Dean scowled at it. "It's not bad. Come on, kiddo, let's go get that cleaned up."

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and Dean stood, Sam stuck to him. He wrapped his arms around Sam and carried him back into the house. Already, just being in the safety and protection of Dean's arms, Sam's cries were lessening.

John didn't try to follow. This was on Dean now, and John wasn't going to interfere.

For a long time, John stood alone on the porch.

"Kid okay?"

John looked up and saw Bobby walking toward him.

"You were watching?" John asked.

"Told Dean I'd keep an eye on Sam. When you drove up… I figured you boys needed some time alone together. Sam okay?"

"Yeah… just cut himself."

The two grizzled hunters stood side by side a long moment in silence. John was the first one to speak. "Dean's going to take Sam."

Bobby nodded. "That's probably for the best."

John laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "Do you think I was that bad a father?"

"Nah… you were just what Dean needed. But Dean is what Sam needs."

"You really think this is a _gift_? What's happened to Sam?"

Bobby shoved his hands in his pockets. "Not sure… ask me in about five years. By then, I imagine Sam will give us the answer to that."

"I feel like I'm just turning my back on him," John confessed.

"You're doing this _for_ him. If you ask me, makes you a damn good father if you see that your son will be better off somewhere else and you let him go… for his sake." Bobby tugged on the bill of his cap. "Can you stay a few days?"

John shook his head. "I have a lead in Washington… could be on the thing that killed Mary. I have to get up there before the trail goes cold." John paused. "Do something for me, Bobby?"

"What?"

"Look into real estate records in California."

Bobby gave John a puzzled look.

"Dean plans to move there, settle down, do the _normal_ life thing. See if you can find a house or apartment for them built on the site of an old church."

"Hallowed ground," Bobby mused aloud.

"At least find a way that my boys can sleep safe at night. I think… I _know_, Dean can handle the rest."

"I'll get right on it."

John nodded mutely and stared out at the Impala. He tried to imagine her parked in a driveway, the same driveway, day after day, year after year.

He hoped like hell Dean could do this, because he knew that there was no way that John could in his place.

To Be Continued…


	12. Chapter 12

John did not hear from Dean for three years. John had to accept that Dean wanted to make a clean break. It made sense. When Dean didn't try to contact him, John reciprocated and did not try to contact his sons.

He was surprised to receive a text message from Dean early one morning. All it gave was a time and place.

John wrapped up the hunt he was on and headed for Arizona.

He arrived at the Grand Canyon visitor center at dawn. He found the Impala, just as he remembered her, parked in the lot, and he pulled into an available space two cars away.

When he got out, John went to the railing overlooking the Grand Canyon and stood still while he watched the sun come up. The sky was shades of red and gold, matching the colors of the canyon below.

He was anxious as hell to see his boys again, but he could wait. He wanted this moment of peace, knowing his sons were close and the world was quiet and calm. Those times were rare enough in John's life.

As the day rose and the sky grew light, tourists started to show up. He was joined at the rail by vacationing families, couples on honeymoons, people just stopping by on their way to somewhere else. John was no longer alone, but he may as well have been for as little he moved or spoke. He was a solemn figure amid laughter and animated movement.

It was the place in life he felt belonged to him.

John still didn't move when someone came and stood close to him.

"All that time on the road, this was one place I never got to see before."

John turned to face Dean. His son was staring out at the canyon, smiling a little to himself.

Canyon forgotten, John took a moment to take a good look at his son. Dean looked younger than the last time John had seen him. That didn't honestly surprise John; the hunt was a hard lifestyle and it took its toll. Dean looked healthier, too. Like his diet no longer consisted entirely of greasy fast food and microwaved convenience store burritos. He had a tan that had brought out the freckles on his nose and cheeks that John hadn't seen since Dean was a kid. His hair was lighter, sun-bleached a medium brown as opposed to the shadow-dwelling dark color it used to be. Other than that, so much was the same. The same ratty jeans with one blown-out knee, the same t-shirt and long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He still wore the gold pendant on a black cord around his neck.

"Hi, son," John croaked.

Dean turned to him. Even his eyes looked lighter. Like he'd shucked the weight of the world and was delighted to see that the world didn't dissolve into fire and chaos when he did. "Hey, Dad."

Then the two men embraced. Despite adopting a civilian lifestyle, Dean still felt solid and strong. Dean obviously still kept up his physical conditioning regime. John was proud to know Dean hadn't abandoned all the things John had taught him, like maintaining his body like the weapon it was.

For a moment, John never wanted to let Dean go.

When Dean pulled away first, John reluctantly let him go. He couldn't help but smile. "You look great, Dean."

Dean grinned. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled, some of the lines new that John had never seen before, but somehow it made Dean look boyish. "It's good to see you."

John swallowed. "You too… it's been a long time."

"Yeah."

John looked around Dean eagerly. "Where's Sam?"

Dean smiled again, this time mischievously. "He'll be out in a minute… that kid takes as long to get dressed and ready as a girl."

John laughed. "Well, he always did need more time than you. You pretty much rolled out of bed into your shoes and were ready to go."

Dean chuckled.

John hesitated before saying, "I was surprised to get your message. When you never called…"

Dean nodded, his facing losing some of the carefree levity it had held. "I know. It wasn't anything against you, Dad. I just thought it would be for the best. Safest… for Sam."

"You were probably right. So… why now?"

Dean fought a smile. "Well, there was someone I wanted you to meet." His son wiped at his lips with his left hand, trying to mask the grin that was fighting to be unleashed. John saw the band of gold on Dean's third finger.

John's eyes widened.

For a moment, he couldn't find the words to say what he was thinking. There wasn't much that could render John Winchester speechless, but this certainly made the cut.

Dean didn't seem to mind. He looked content.

"I'm sorry," John muttered the first words he could force through his lips.

Dean blinked at him. "For what?"

John shook his head and grimaced. "I always knew my life, our life, wasn't right for Sam. I just… it never occurred to me it wasn't right for _you_, either."

Dean edged closer and put a hand on John's arm. "Dad?"

John took Dean's hand off him (it was hard to let Dean touch him) and pointedly rubbed his thumb over the wedding ring on his son's hand. "You did it so well, Dean. Being a hunter. You were a natural at it. I honestly believed it was the only way for you to live. I… I was wrong."

Dean drew his hand back and stared at his wedding ring. His brow furrowed. "Well, if it means anything, Dad… I thought it was the only life for me, too. I was surprised."

"Guess we were both wrong."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Things change."

John stared openly at his son. He knew he was staring but he couldn't help it. He couldn't imagine _his_ Dean settled down and married. But he was. It made him wonder how well he'd ever really known Dean. If the Dean he'd known so many years was the real Dean Winchester or the Dean Winchester his son had made himself because it was what John wanted. Maybe his boys weren't so different after all… maybe the difference all along was that Dean was a better actor than Sam.

"It was really hard at first," Dean said softly, as though reading John's mind. Dean kept his eyes on the canyon, but his attention was on what he was saying to his father. "In the beginning, coming home to a _house_, paying a mortgage… it was so freaking weird. Sometimes, in the beginning, I felt trapped." Dean scowled and dropped his gaze. "I went through a rough patch when I was just gritting my teeth through it for Sam's sake."

John swallowed but did not interrupt.

"I'd read the morning paper, every day, and I'd be looking for a hunt. I didn't realize I was doing it until I noticed I'd circled some strange death in the headliners."

"You were a hunter," John pointed out quietly.

Dean nodded. "I stayed that way… a long time. I was a hunter on a leash." Dean said the last with a savage bite to his tone. A flash of the frustration and irritation that that feeling had caused made Dean tense at the mere memory. Dean lifted his gaze again. "Then… I don't know. The being in one place and having neighbors and going to the shop every morning for work… I never thought I'd like that, Dad. I thought it would drive me crazy. And it did for a while, but then… I don't know how to explain it. It was…"

"It's comfortable," John said. He knew. He'd lived normal before he turned to a life of hunting. John had been through everything Dean had. Dean had only reversed his order of lifestyles.

Dean nodded. "Yeah… I have a _home_, Dad."

Dean's voice was filled with so much wonder at that concept. It was something rare and unexpected to him, not the certainty that most people took for granted.

John reached out and briefly clapped a strong hand on Dean's shoulder. A squeeze was all the answer he could give. If he spoke, he'd betray feelings best left unspoken between two Winchester men.

For what seemed a small eternity, John and Dean stood at the rail amid the tourists, staring out at the Grand Canyon. John would have been happy to stand there, his son at his side, all day. He couldn't think of anything more important at that moment than being next to his son in front of the natural wonder of the canyon.

A breathless call rose above the chatter of the tourists. "Dad! _Dad_!"

John knew the voice, had heard that name called to him many times, but it was Dean who turned.

Seven-year-old Sam Winchester came running toward them, a black and white husky pulling at the leash in front of him, barking and lunging to get to Dean.

Sam lost his grip on the leash and the husky raced ahead, jumping up on Dean in a flurry of wagging tail and lolling tongue.

"Hey!" Dean laughed as he ruffled the dog's fur. "Down, Jovi. _Down_." He pushed the dog off him and wiped off his shirt. Sam came to a breathless halt in front of Dean. "Didn't I tell you to teach her not to do that?"

It was the kind of reproach John could hear himself saying to Sam so many years ago, but the tone was completely different. It was gentle and loving. Instead of fuming and resisting in response (the way he always had with John), Sam just smiled. "Sorry, Dad! She's better about that with everyone but you."

John was watching intently. He couldn't take his eyes off Sam.

He couldn't believe the difference. He remembered Sam at seven, he could see that same boy in the Sam before him now, but years living a 'normal' life had made a difference. Sam was blond, no doubt from spending so much time in the sun. He was wearing a soccer jersey, and when the boy fumbled on the pavement for the snaking leash as Jovi darted around, John saw 'WINCHESTER' written across the back. He was still lanky and skinny, still had that mop of hair that John had forced him to cut so many times. Mostly, it was an untenable difference that loomed like the sun over the kid. It was the sense of looking at Sam and knowing he was happy. He didn't have the sadness and confusion of a life he didn't understand being forced to live in his face.

"Where's your mom?" Dean asked.

Sam huffed to finally finish catching his breath. "She was right behind me; Jovi didn't want to wait up."

Jovi was sniffing at John's pant leg. He absently held down a hand to let the dog smell it.

Sam looked past Dean to John and frowned. "Who are you?"

John stepped up alongside Dean and gazed down at Sam. He didn't have the automatic distrust John had taught his boys to have. He was cautious, but he didn't look like he wanted to reach for a knife or holy water.

He thought maybe that was a mistake, but he didn't say it. This was Dean's way of raising Sam. John had agreed to abide by it when he let Dean take Sam that day at Bobby's.

John looked at Dean. Dean only waited to see what John would do.

John knelt down and offered his most non-threatening smile. "I'm your grandfather."

Sam looked up at Dean for verification, and John couldn't help but look, too.

Dean was watching John with scrutiny. Maybe he'd expected John to maintain his right to call himself Sam's father.

John knew better. He saw Sam now, happy and healthy, and knew he'd lost the right to be called that.

Dean finally smiled, more in thanks to John than anything. "Sam, this is John Winchester."

Sam eyed John carefully, then offered a small hand to him as he'd seen grown-ups do. "Hi."

John smiled and shook hands with the boy. "It's very nice to see you again."

Sam took his hand back and blinked. "Have we met before?"

John stood, wincing at the complaint of his knees. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and hunting was a hard life. "When you were little. Guess you don't remember. Last time I saw you was when you were four."

While Sam was sizing up John and John was offering himself up for approval by the seven-year-old, a woman's voice called, "Dean!"

Dean's grin was automatic, like a reflex. He moved off to meet the woman halfway while John was captivated by Sam in front of him. He felt like he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, until Sam gave the okay.

Sam broke the spell that held John immobile by looking away from him. Sam turned to look toward Dean and John's gaze broke and followed.

What he saw took his breath away.

Dean was standing at the side of a woman. A very attractive brunette. John had to assume she was Dean's wife. That wasn't the shocking part. Dean was gently taking from the woman's arms a wrapped bundle, a look of immeasurable pride on his face as he gazed down.

John was gaping, speechless, as Dean brought the bundle over to John. "Dad, this is Jessica."

John stared down at the swaddled infant. She couldn't be more than a month old. She was half-asleep, moving her lips and opening and closing her tiny fists. She had fine wisps of dark hair, more her mother's coloring than Dean's. Stunned, John looked up into Dean's face.

Dean was beaming. Looking at him, John couldn't even remember what the hardened and resilient hunter Dean Winchester looked like.

"Jessica?" John croaked.

A shadow crossed Dean's face for half a second. "Yeah… Sam helped us come up with the name."

The woman came up next to Dean and rested a loving hand on his arm.

Dean came back to himself at the touch. "Dad… this is Carmen. My wife."

She held out her hand to John. "It's great to finally meet you, Mr. Winchester. I know Dean thinks the world of you. It's nice to finally put a face to the legend."

"Carmen… I'm very pleased to meet you." John gaped down at the newborn baby again. "You have a beautiful daughter." John couldn't help but think of Mary and how much she deserved to be here and see this baby. Dean's daughter. His and Mary's perfect little granddaughter.

"Want to hold her?" Dean asked warmly. John nodded mutely and before he could really comprehend what was happening the baby was passed into his arms.

Jessica yawned and opened her eyes to stare up at him. They were Dean's. She might have a lot of her mother in her, but John knew that baby gaze anywhere. He stared down in wonder at his granddaughter, but he was more amazed by all that she meant.

Dean had found a life and a family for Sam that John had never been able to give him. Dean was able to let go of the quest to avenge Mary's death, he was able to move on. Against everything John could fathom, Dean found a way to be happy.

Sam came up alongside John and stood on his toes to look down proudly at his 'sister'.

John, a lump lodged in his throat, looked over at Sam. He smiled weakly, "You must be pretty excited about all this, huh, Sam?"

Sam smiled brightly. "You bet. I'm going to be the best big brother ever."

John laughed softly. "I bet you will be," but he looked up at Dean, standing with one arm around his wife, and the two men communicated without words.

John knew Sam would do a great job looking after his little sister, but the honor of best big brother already belonged to someone else.

END


End file.
